Brothers of the Heart
by Keesha
Summary: Callen's Corner Challenge #4: Sam and Callen attempt to escape from a hostile country where they must depend on each other for their survival.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: Callen's Corner Challenge #4_

_You have heard the expression 'be careful what you wish for'? Being given the permission, no directed to write a story with "No romance, just hurt/comfort, drama and action of Sam saving Callen in some dire situation either on the job, or from a lone wolf scenario involving Callen and his personal life" to a fanfiction writer is like letting an 8-year-old with a sweet tooth loose in a candy store. Some FF writers (i.e. me) love nothing better than to whump their characters, explore their deepest darkest secrets and make it all better by the end of the story; to be given permission to do so and not hold back? Priceless. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. I usually try to constrain myself from beating up my characters too much, but since I was giving permission, I confess I did go a bit over the edge. As usual, I own nothing, just playing with the toys nicely (ok, maybe a little bit roughly this time) and I will put them back on the shelf neatly when I am done._

CHAPTER 1

Callen hung suspended in the hot desert sun by steel manacles that cruelly dug into the tender flesh of his wrists causing thin rivulets of blood to sluggishly run down his forearms. The toes of his scuffed black boots were barely able to brush the dirt so his shackled arms had to bare the entire weight of his body. He swayed back and forth in this painful position but was powerless to do anything to halt it.

Directly behind him stood a statuesque man, covered from head to toe in a nondescript off-white robe. In his sun-browned hand, the man clutched a long, brown, leather whip made stiff by the layers of dried blood that stained its entire length. A crowd of fifty men and woman, dressed similarly to the man, stood in front of the suspended Callen, chanting their leader, brought the cruel whip to bear again and again on the skin of Callen's exposed back.

Callen's head lolled between his shoulders even though he was still conscious and able to feel each brutal, measured blow of the leather on his person. The strokes from the whip were sharp, deliberate and calculated so each new stroke landed on flesh that had not yet been scored, though after three days torture, unmarked flesh on his back was hard to find. If the gathered crowd was hoping to hear him to cry or plead for mercy, they would be sorely disappointed. The agent hadn't made a sound the first day they had tortured him and he wouldn't today either; defying them gave him a minor victory in a war he knew he couldn't win.

Callen mutely counted each stroke; since he had been captured three days ago, the routine hadn't changed. At sunrise each morning he'd been marched from his prison to this dusty, dry courtyard, shackled and suspended from a wooden beam. Out of the shadows of the dawn, a crowd would slowly gather. After all were present, a corridor would form through the worshipers and the unidentifiable robed man, carrying the blood stained flogging device, would solemnly walk down the path. Stopping and standing directly in front of Callen, he asked a single question each day. 'Do you renounce your sins and beg Allah for mercy?'

Callen had no idea which sin he was supposed to be confessing to this man and his followers; in Callen's line of work he had performed numerous actions that these people would find sinful. On the first day of torture, Callen had tried to engage the man in a dialogue but the man remained mute except for asking his single question. Knowing the meaning of futile, Callen gave up and reminded silent too, defiantly glaring at his accuser each morning but confessing nothing. When the man did not receive an answer to his question, he would say 'In the name of Allah', silently move behind Callen and the scourging would commence. The man would recite what Callen thought was a supplication, striking Callen on the back in a rhythmic manner. On the first day, Callen had lifted his head to scan the crowd but found only hatred in their cold eyes; since then he kept his head bowed and endured in silence.

The prayer and the whipping would end simultaneously after exactly nineteen strokes at which point Callen was taken down and hauled back to his cell. The first day he walked somewhat arrogantly to his prison, by day three they were dragging his half-conscious battered body.

Once back in his prison, he was forced to put his shirt back on to cover his bloody, whip-scored back which he could only assume was an affront to these people even though they caused the wounds. By day three, Callen was grateful he had been wearing a button down shirt when he was captured; he had serious doubts he could have pulled anything over his head without passing out. His back was a bleeding mass of welts and moving his arms too vigorously sent waves of agony washing over his exposed nerves. Callen tried his best not to let his shirt get stuck to the raw skin on his back. If his shirt stuck, the agony of his punishment started before he even arrived in the courtyard since he was made to remove his garment each morning in his cell. If the scabs had adhered to his shirt, they ripped open when he took it off.

As with the previous three days, after the morning flailing, he was returned to his cell, ordered to dress and a cup of questionably clean water and a crust of bread were left within his reach. At first the agent had balked at drinking the filthy water but by the third day he had no choice if he wanted to survive long enough for Sam to rescue him. The thing which was keeping him sane was his absolute faith in his partner; he knew Sam would come for him. It was his job was to stay alive until Sam arrived so Callen roused his flagellated body and crawled across the dirt floor of the prison to where the bread and water had been placed. With a dirt-streaked hand, he carefully lifted the metal cup and brought it with a trembling hand to his parched lips. He alternated between tiny sips of water and the dry bread until both were gone. Hoping the food would stay down, he crept back to the filthy scrap of blanket provided and collapsed on to it to wait for the next sunrise and the repeat performance of torture.


	2. Chapter 2

It is amazing what adrenaline and meager food can do for a body, at least temporarily. When Callen's cell door was opened by a large, robe-covered man that morning, he was able to marshal his strength, rise to his feet, albeit not swiftly and stand to face this new threat. Thankfully, it only took him a second to realize the perceived threat was actually his savior, Sam.

Sam eyed his disheveled partner dubiously. "Can you walk?"

Callen nodded grimly, pushing all his pain aside as he continued to lean on his adrenaline rush to function. Sam, gun in hand, took point to lead the way out of the prison. It wasn't too hard for the special agents to escape. It seemed like his captors had given no thought to the fact that someone might try to rescue their prisoner. The one guard on the outermost door was easily subdued by Sam. After striping the man of his robe, Sam tossed it to Callen who put it on trying not to let the agony it was causing to don the garment to show in his face. After Callen was covered, the two men stepped into the street which at mid-day was moderately crowded; robed, they blended in fairly well.

"I have a car about a quarter of mile from here," Sam told his partner in hushed tones. Callen gave a quick nod indicating he understood. Walking as swiftly as they could without attracting any undue attention, the men wound their way thru the streets, across the market square and over to an older model SUV.

By this point, Callen was fatigued and happy to slide into the passenger side of the vehicle while Sam took up residence behind the wheel. The SUV roared to life after Sam twisted the key in the ignition. It definitely needed a new muffler and Callen hoped that was the only thing wrong with it; he really didn't feeling like walking if it broke down. Cautiously, Sam pulled on to the street which was crowded with cars, people and animals; it wouldn't do to get into an accident during their prison-break.

Shifting restlessly in his seat, Callen tried to find a way to sit that didn't put pressure on his abraded back. Glancing sideways at his squirming partner, Sam thought that Callen appeared pale underneath the grime that covered his face. Knowing if he asked Callen if he was hurt, he'd get the canned reply, 'I'm good'; so Sam decided to go the direct approach. "Where are you injured G?"

Callen stopped fidgeting for a moment in the seat. "What makes you think I'm hurt?" he asked, evading answering the question and throwing the onus back on Sam.

Sighing, Sam gave his head a little shake; now he knew Callen was hurt because the man had gone into deflection mode. There was a couple of ways he could play this out and Sam choose to go silent and bide his time.

They cleared the town and were now out on the open road. Checking the rearview mirror occasionally, Sam couldn't detect any signs that they were being followed. The dusty dirt road deteriorated the further they got out of town and Sam was glad they were driving a vehicle that could handle the less than stellar surface conditions.

When Callen spoke again, it was not on the subject of his health. "What's the plan?"

"We're heading for an airfield about hundred miles to the south. We'll meet a guy there with helicopter that will fly us over the border and get us as close to the coast as possible. We'll have to hike the rest of the way to the sea where Hetty has arranged for a covert extraction." Just to keep his side-stepping partner on notice he added, "You up for a hike? It's pretty rough country."

The constant unpredictable motion of the SUV when it hit a rough patch of road was keeping Callen on edge as he tried not to jar his mutilated back. Gritting his teeth after they hit a particularly nasty bump that gave him air time off his seat, Callen decided he'd had enough, stripped out of his robe and climbed into the back seat. As Callen's torso disappeared between the seats Sam asked, "What are you doing?"

With an ungraceful plunk, Callen landed on the back seat which was a bench-style. He flipped around to face front before he answered Sam. "Haven't slept in three days. Gonna catch a quick nap so I'm ready for our walk in the park."

Sam couldn't stop a small smile from making a brief appearance on his face. "Well don't snore or I'll be forced to turn the radio on."

Arranging his weary body on the seat to avoid putting any pressure on his wounds Callen mumbled, "This piece of crap has a radio?"

"I can always sing," Sam answered cheerfully.

Callen dropped his weary head on his forearms. "Pass."

Sam had rescued Callen in the early afternoon and now evening was descending upon them. Without a break, Sam drove throughout the night and by the first light of dawn they were approaching their first destination.

Callen had spent most of the night in a semi-conscious state in the back seat. He'd barely fall asleep before being jarred awake by the poor road conditions.

The turn-off for the airfield was another dirt road that led to a large grassy area with a small hanger, a few scattered aircraft and a runway that had seen better days. Sam pulled the SUV into the makeshift parking area and the two men slowly got out of the car, stretching their cramped muscles.

Sam started walking and Callen let out a low whistle when he saw what aircraft his partner was heading towards. "That's a Kamov Ka-25. Code name Hormone. Russian helicopter first flown in 1967." It wasn't a hard aircraft to identify with her dual rotors blades and bulbous nose.

A voice boomed from behind the aircraft. "Man knows his Russian aircraft. I call her Zoya." A tall, dark-skinned man stepped around the front of the helicopter and gave the machine an affectionate pat. "She serves me well."

Callen scanned the craft from stem to stern. "You bought it or stole it from a scrap yard."

The guy looked askance at Sam who merely shrugged. "He has no appreciation for fine machinery. He doesn't even name his cars."

The man eye-balled Callen. "Huh. Well I didn't win her in a lottery. I bought Zoya at a surplus auction. Guess Russia had a cash flow problem. Got a good deal on her too."

Sam finally got around to making introductions. "Peter," he said addressing the owner of the helicopter, "this is my business partner Tom." Peter extended his hand and Callen, a.k.a Tom, shook it. "Nice to meet you."

"A friend of Dan's is a friend of mine," Peter replied genially and Callen took note; Sam was going by Dan. Releasing Callen's hand, Peter turned and headed towards the cockpit. "She's fueled and ready to go. Got any luggage?" he asked jokingly.

"Last airline lost it," Sam said drily. "But I do have a backpack in the car. I'll go grab it." Sam left and Callen walked over and inspected their ride.

The helicopter was painted in desert camouflage colors; she carried no insignias and at first glance the weaponry seemed inoperable. As Callen leaned over to examine one of the guns on the underbelly of the fuselage, Peter materialized by his side. "She a civilian craft now. No need for working weapons."

Callen turned away from the gun he'd been inspecting and quirked an eyebrow at Peter combined with a look of disbelief.

Peter sighed. "I'm guessing your aren't buying that story." Callen gave a slight shake of his head. "Well, perhaps on occasion I have used them, but it is hard to get ammo these days."

Callen gave him a pointed look. "Are they loaded now?"

"Do they need to be?" Peter shot back.

Callen gave him a lazy grin. "Fair enough."

Sam rejoined the two men, carrying a fully loaded backpack over one shoulder. "Let's roll."

Peter hopped into the cockpit and began his instrumentation check while Callen and Sam settled in the body of the beast, donning headphones. Static crackled in their ears before Peter's voice rang out. "There's room upfront for one more if anyone would like a bird's eye view."

Callen motioned for Sam to go, so the taller man took off his headset, hunched over and made his way to the cockpit. He clambered into the co-pilot's seat and donned a new headset.

The increased sound of the rotors told Callen they'd soon be airborne and he settled in his seat trying to be careful of his back. A quick visual inspection of the cabin and equipment around him put him somewhat at ease. This might be an older aircraft but it looked like it was being meticulously maintained. The craft gave a small lurch as it left the ground and soon they were heading south.

"I should be able to get you within a few miles of the coast undetected. But you'll have to hike the rest of the way," Peter said over the headset.

"Not a problem. We appreciate you doing this for us," Sam replied sincerely.

Peter gave Sam an earnest glance. "If it weren't for you Dan, I'd be worm food."

"Those were tough times," Sam said reminiscently.

"Tough times," Peter echoed. "Lost good men."

Sam ran a weary hand over his face. "That we did."

In the back, Callen made a note to ask Sam the backstory between him and Peter once they were safely home. "How long is our flight time?" Callen asked over his mike.

"About four hours," Peter promptly answered. "Hope you brought your own snacks. There's no beverage service on this flight, though if you look under the seat you might find an old granola bar or something."

Laughing Callen said, "I'll pass thanks."

Sam and Peter started talking about past acquaintances and Callen quickly grew bored so he took off his headset. Unable to find a comfortable manner in which to sit, he dropped to the floor, curled up on his side and dozed off ignoring the vibrations in the floor of the helicopter.

Sam and Peter talked for about an hour when it dawned on Sam that Callen had been very quiet. "Tom, how's it going back there?" he inquired over the headset. When he didn't get a reply he grew concerned, "Tom?"

Peter gave a sideways glance at Sam. "Maybe your friend's taking a nap. Our yapping probably bored him to tears."

"Yeh. I'm sure that's it," Sam agreed as he rose from his seat. "But I'm gonna check." Secretly Sam was worried because he knew Callen was not a sound sleeper and should have woken up at when he heard Sam's voice. He was relieved when he spotted his partner curled up on his side on the floor napping. Turning around, he went back to the cockpit.

"Everything hunky dory?" Peter asked as Sam dropped back into the co-pilots seat.

Sam put his headset back on. "Yeh. He took off his headset and is curled up on the floor sleeping."

"That's downright uncomfortable," Peter remarked.

Sam snorted. "Tom has a knack for being able to sleep anywhere, in any position. What he can't do is sleep at night in a bed like a normal person."

"From the looks of it, your friend could use the rest. Our country not treating you right?" Peter said casually.

Sam knew that was Peter's way of asking what was going on so Sam spun a story. "Damnedest thing. We've been doing business in his part of the world for more than a year with no issues. Then a rival company decides they want a piece of the action so they convince the locals to capture Tom to make a statement."

"Did you guys get the message?" Peter made a slight adjustment to the helicopter's instrument panel before looking over at Sam.

Sighing a bit theatrically Sam said, "Well, they have gotten the locals so riled against us with their lies, I doubt we can ever do business there again. If you haven't been able to fly us out, I am not sure what would have happened next. It was getting very ugly."

Peter nodded seriously. "They aren't ones to mess around."

"No they are not," Sam agreed.

The conversation shifted back to more mundane topics for the next hour. They were about two hours into the flight when Sam noticed Peter appeared to be getting a little tense. "Something wrong?"

The pilot looked out the window before carefully replying. "We'll be crossing the border in a few clicks. There have been some, ah, incidents of aircraft being fired upon by ground forces."

"Land before the border. We can hike the rest of the way," Sam told him.

Peter shook his head no. "That's more than 100 miles over some really rough terrain."

"It's not worth taking the risk. We can do it. Land," Sam instructed.

"No way. You didn't strand me and I'm not stranding you. Besides, the odds are good we won't even be spotted." Peter crossed his fingers and silently prayed he was right.

But luck was not with them when fifteen minutes later, the helicopter was fired upon from the ground. Zoya was raked for nose to tail by armor piercing bullets. Smoke billowed out of her engines and Peter frantically scanned his instrument panel. "One engine is out and while she can fly on only one engine, she has too much damage overall. We're going down."


	3. Chapter 3

The sound of bullets tearing thru Zoya's metal hull instantly woke Callen and he simultaneously looked for cover and the shooter. It didn't take him long to realize they were being fired upon from the outside the craft. Getting up off the floor, he started to make his way towards the cockpit to check on Sam and Peter. He could smell the smoke and could tell by the way the bird was flying that things weren't good.

As a second strike of shells raked the helicopter, the door in the cargo area flew open; one of the shots damaged the mechanism holding it closed. A warning light in the cockpit went off and Peter mildly suggested to Sam he'd better go check on Tom. "If he is still asleep he might roll out the door."

Callen saw the door slide open but he was far enough away that he wasn't in any danger; however it did make him vulnerable to the flack. He was starting to make his way forward again, away from the danger zone when the helicopter unexpectedly jerked, flinging him towards the rear of the compartment. Sam, who had just made his way into the cargo area, was also pitched towards the rear of the craft, stumbling into Callen.

Both men fell to the floor in front of the open cargo door when a third volley of bullets hit Zoya. Callen, who was nearest to the door, felt a hot slug pierce his left shoulder. It was traveling at enough velocity that it went through his body before embedding itself in the bulkhead. Callen staggered and Sam quickly reached out and dragged his hurt partner away from the open door.

"G!" he screamed and Callen would have liked to reassure him, but he couldn't get his brain to form the words. Sam cradled his partner's body for a few seconds before Callen feebly struggled to get loose.

The helicopter lurched again and rapidly started to descend. Finally able to put a few coherent words together Callen said, "Go check on Peter. Make sure someone is flying this thing."

Sam knew Callen was making sense so he propped him up against the wall and headed back to the cockpit. Callen found himself in a catch 22; he needed to lean against the wall to remain upright but that made his back throb along with his shoulder.

Up in the cockpit, Peter struggled to keep Zoya in the air. "She's not gonna make it. I'm going to have to land. I'm thinking it would be best if you two weren't onboard."

Sam considered the statement then nodded. "You're right."

Peter pursed his lips. "Am I correct in my assumption that you and your friend have jumped from a helicopter in a previous life."

"Yes," Sam answered succinctly.

Peter reached over on the instrument panel and flipped a switch. "Ok, here's the play. There is a lake coming up. I'm gonna go in low and slow and you guys are going for a swim. Sorry, but I can't hover Zoya for you."

"Understood. But what about you, when you land. What will they do to you?" Sam asked concerned for his friend safety.

Peter laughed lightly. "I have enough friends on both sides of the border to escape with a smack on the wrist and a warning. Especially if I promise to bring them some goodies. Trade is the language of forgiveness."

Sam clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Good luck my friend." Sam slowly turned away and headed back to the cargo area.

"Drop me a postcard when you get home," Peter called over his shoulder.

Callen raised his head when Sam came back into view. "What's the plan?"

Frowning, Sam grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder before kneeling next to his partner. "Water landing, except we are not landing. You up for a swim?"

"I'm not a SEAL like you, but I can doggy paddle," Callen answered lightly.

Sam looked at the growing blood stain on Callen's shirt and got very serious with his partner. "G. I gotta know if you can do this."

Callen's pain-filled blue eyes bore into Sam's. "Is there a choice? We either jump into the water and swim or hold on tight when Zoya crashes. I like my odds with the water better." Callen and Sam were both able to fly helicopters and they knew that Zoya was going to crash. "Peter?" Callen asked.

"Maybe he'll bail. Maybe he'll go down with her." Sam reached over and helped Callen to his feet; the movement made his head foggy and he swayed and almost went down.

"G!" Sam said frantically.

"I got it Sam," Callen ground out between clenched teeth as fought back against the dizziness and pain. "I can do this," he murmured as much for Sam's reassurance as for his own.

The two men moved slowly over to the open cargo door, lowered themselves onto the metal floor and hung their legs out the opening. Sam grabbed onto a support handle and leaned further out the door to see where they were located in regards to the water. He spotted the deep blue lake about one mile head. "About a mile," Sam announced glancing over at his partner and noticing his eyes were shut again. Sam had to make sure he quickly got to his injured partner's side once they hit the water; he had serious doubted Callen could swim for long.

The lake was fast approaching and both men scooted closer to the edge of the cargo bay in preparation to jump. They felt the helicopter slow down and Peter yelled back from the cockpit, "30 seconds boys."

Sam glanced over at his partner again; his eyes were open and he was staring down at the passing ground. Sam grew concerned when he detected a shadow of uncertainty in Callen's face. It scared him that Callen seemed to have some doubts about his ability to make this jump. He reached over and placed a gentle, reassuring hand on Callen's good shoulder and G turned his head and gave him a tight smile.

The land was now replaced by water and the copter was flying low to the surface. As they neared what Sam estimated to be the center of the water mass, he held up three fingers and did a silent countdown. When his hand became a fist, they leapt into the lake.

Folding his arms across his chest, Sam hit the water feet first and nearly vertical. He sliced thru the surface of the cold water quickly becoming fully submerged. Once below the surface, he unfolded his powerful arms to stop his decent and stated stroking upwards being sure not to lose the backpack. When his face cleared the water, he gulped in a few lungs full of air while he scanned the surface for any sign of his partner. Treading water and rotating in a circle he grew increasing anxious when Callen did not emerge.

When Callen jumped, he used his good hand to grab his injured arm and haul it has close to his body as possible, trying to get a streamlined entry to the water. He hit a little less than vertical but close enough that he cut through the water fairly cleanly plunging rapidly towards the bottom. The problem came when he tried to open his arms to stop his decent and couldn't do so on his injured side. Only being able to stroke with one arm caused his body to tilt and he quickly lost his orientation to the surface. The coldness of the water numbed his mind, muddling his thinking and he fought to curb his rising panic as his lungs started screaming for air. He let a little of his precious air out to form bubbles and looked to see which way they traveled. Determining which way was up, he used his right arm and both legs to kick towards the surface.

Sam saw a disturbance on the water fifteen feet from his current position and he quickly swam in that direction. As Callen's head broke the surface, Sam reached out and provided flotation support. Gasping for air, Callen tread water with his feet while holding on to Sam with his good arm for extra support. When he finally got his breathing under control, Callen started looking around for the shoreline.

"That way," Sam said jerking his head to the east.

Callen followed his motion and saw where the water met the land. Though he estimated it was less than a half-mile away, he had serious doubts whether his remaining strength could take him that far. Suddenly, a large boom echoed across the water and instinctually the men turned towards the sound in time to see a fireball light up the sky.

"Zoya," Sam said mournfully.

Staring into the distance Callen asked rhetorically, "Do you think he got out?" not expecting and not receiving an answer.

Sam shook himself out of his reverie to re-focus on the living. He could see Callen was struggling to tread water without the ability to use of both arms. "We have to head for shore, now." He started moving in the water closer to Callen to tow him to land but before he could reach him, Callen flipped on his good side and started using a modified lifesaving stroke to propel towards the shore keeping his injured shoulder and arm tight against his chest. Sam paced him, ready to lend support if needed, but his partner, independently stubborn as always, resisted any sort of assistance.

The area of the shore closest to them was strewn with large boulders and to get on land would require some climbing. When they got close, Sam pulled ahead and tested the water depth. He could stand with his shoulders and head out of the water which meant Callen, being four inches shorter, would also be able to stand.

From the aching and the coldness of the water, Callen's hold on reality was slipping by the time they reached the edge of the lake. It took a few seconds for him to process what Sam was telling him to do but eventually his brain got it and he stopped swimming, let his feet touch the bottom and found he could stand.

Searching the area around him, Sam found what he deemed was the best spot to try to climb up the boulders. There were a few lower rocks then a larger one which had enough jags in it that one could scale it. Sam successfully clambered out of the water and the rocks then turned and looked expectantly at his partner.

"Come on G. I'll help," Sam coaxed as he took off his pack and laid it aside before bending down and extending one his muscular arms down the boulder's side.

Callen sluggishly made his way through the water to the lower rocks and after several tries, ungracefully hauled his body on top of them. Raising unsteadily to his feet and leaning heavily on the neighboring boulder he looked up at Sam with vacant eyes as if he didn't know what to do next.

"Try to climb. I'll help," Sam instructed as he dropped to his stomach so he could extend his arms further down the side of the rock.

Gritting his teeth Callen used his good arm to secure a hold, found toe holes for his feet and used his bad arm to brace as best as possible against the rock's rough surface. This got him about four feet up the face of the boulder which was enough for Sam to be able to secure a hold on G's right wrist.

"I'll pull and you find new toe holds," Sam told his partner.

As Sam used his considerable strength to pull Callen up, Callen scrambled for higher crevices into which he wedged his feet. They successfully moved Callen another three feet upwards though Sam could see the toll this was taking on his partner so stretching his arms as far as possible, he latched on to the back of Callen's jeans with one hand to help haul him to the top. In doing this, his forearm bounced off Callen's back before coming to rest against it.

Callen's brain lost track of reality and slipped back to a few days ago, interpreting the fact he was suspended by his arms and something was painfully hitting his back as being tortured. His mind screamed escape and he flung his body weight backwards, yanked his arm from Sam's hand. Sam, who wasn't expecting his partner to try to break lose, was caught unawares and lost his grip. Callen broke free and tumbled onto the rocks below, hitting his head, knocking himself unconscious and sliding back into the lake.


	4. Chapter 4

"Callen!" Sam yelled as he scrambled down the rocks back into the water to rescue his partner. Even though the water was murky, it was shallow enough for Sam to easily locate his partner and drag him to the surface. It took a few moments but he finally got Callen out of the water and securing resting on the lower tier of boulders. After he was sure his partner was not going to slip back into the water, Sam climbed back to the top of the larger rocks, picked up the backpack and pulled out a length of rope. Dropping back down to the lower tier, he rigged an elaborate harness around Callen's legs and uninjured shoulder. Since Sam had no clue about the whip slashes on Callen's back, he never took that into account when he came up with his plan to hoist his partner up the rocks; his only worry had been the bullet hole in Callen's left shoulder. After propping his partner so he'd be easier to haul upwards, Sam made what he hoped was his final ascent to the top of the larger boulder with the rope in his hands.

Bracing his feet and ensuirng his grip was secure, Sam started pulling on the rope. As the cord tightened around his back, Callen was momentarily thrust back to consciousness by the pain radiating throughout his body and he began shrieking in agony. Sam so unnerved by the unexpected sound he almost let go of the rope. However, his training kicked in and he kept a tight hold on the rope and continued to steadily haul Callen up the rocks. Mercifully, Callen passed out again and the soul ripping screams subsided.

By the time the injured man reached the top, Sam was sweating from both exhaustion and nerves. As he untied his jury-rigged rope harness, Sam ran an observant eye over Callen's body. He could see fresh blood stains on the front and back of Callen's shirt which he attributed to the bullet wound in his left shoulder; the fact that it was still bleeding concerned Sam, though there wasn't anything he could do about it until he found a safe place for them to rest.

Standing up and stretching his aching muscles, Sam studied the area surrounding them; the terrain was rough and rocky. A glance at this watch confirmed what his internal clock was telling him that they had less than three hours until total darkness; Sam was going to have to work quickly to find a secure place for them to wait out the night.

Observing his surroundings again, Sam thought he detected an odd pattern of dark and light about 200 yards to his right. Making sure Callen was far enough from any edge in case he woke up, Sam headed off in the direction of the anomaly. It took him five minutes to reach the area and as he drew closer he became hopeful; it was a small cave, really a glorified indentation, but it was big enough to offer safety and security from prying eyes iand defendable from any type of marauders, animal or human. This was the first break they had and Sam was happy for it. He hurried back to where the unconscious Callen lay, picked up the backpack, gently slung Callen over his shoulder and headed for their temporary shelter.

Their mini-cave was 30 feet deep, 20 feet wide and tall enough for Sam to stand upright. The walls and ceiling were formed by pieces of rocks that had tumbled on top of each other to form a natural grotto. The floor was cold stone so after Sam placed Callen gently down, he dug a thermal blanket out of the pack and spread it out before relocating G onto it.

Sam ran a weary hand over his face as he stood considering his next course of action. It was a no brainer they wouldn't be moving anywhere else tonight so the last of the daylight had to be spent wisely. He knew in this climate it was going to cool off at night and he wondered if there was anything nearby to use as fuel for a fire. While he knew light could be seen at a distance, he thought the geological structure of this cave would allow him to build a small blaze where it wouldn't be very noticeable and the fissures in the ceiling would carry away the smoke.

Fatigue was catching up with Sam and he dug in the pack for a water bottle and gulped down its contents; he had to keep strong because it was obvious Callen was going to need his support to survive this ordeal. Snagging a protein bar, Sam munched on it as he moved back to Callen, squatted down beside him and checked his pulse. It was rapid, but steady and Sam was satisfied; it was safe to leave him while he searched for fuel.

Getting up and moving towards the front of their hidey hole, Sam eyed the backpack as he walked by it. It contained a satphone that was designed to survive getting wet so Sam had no concerns that it wouldn't work. What he was worried about was someone tracking it. He and Callen were in no shape to move or fight anyone tonight so it was imperative that they remain off the radar as long as possible; Sam wouldn't risk using the phone tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough to confirm their exit strategy. By then he'd better know the extent of Callen's injury and how fast they could travel.

Sam secured his gun from the pack, took it out of the waterproof bag and checked it out. It appeared to have survived its bath fine. From another waterproof pouch he took an ammo clip and dropped that into his pocket while placing the gun in his back holster.

Fiddling which his watch, Sam set an alarm for 45 minutes from now. If he hadn't secured what he needed by then, they'd have to forego it and the hope of a fire. Sam didn't want to run out of daylight before he had a chance to examine Callen's wounds and provide any medical treatment possible given their remote location. He was carrying a Hetty enhanced medical kit and he was confident it would have contain supplies.

Within his allotted time, Sam was able to find enough fuel to make a fire and he piled it inside the mouth of their cave. He noticed while he was gone, Callen had rolled onto his right side though he remaind unconscious.

Digging in the backpack, Sam located and pulled out the medical kit and carried it over to where Callen lay. As he knelt down next to his partner, he glanced at Callen's shirt; the bloodstains still looked wet. Placing the kit on the stone floor, Sam reached over to undo Callen's shirt so he could examine the bullet wound. Unbuttoning the last closure, Sam gently pushed the shirt off Callen's left shoulder to expose the bullet hole. He found exactly what he thought he would find; it was still weeping blood, not a gusher, but a fairly steady seepage. Since this was a thru and thru, he maneuvered Callen into a semi-seated position, holding him upright using his good shoulder, so he could examine the exit site.

Sam's eyes traveled over the front of Callen's left shoulder and onto his back where suddenly he saw the carnage; his partner must have been tortured by his captors! Sam gasped and he felt ill as he stared at the raw slashes and gouges that covered Callen's back. The numerous wounds were torn open and Sam could see the signs that an infection had already settled into several of the gashes.

Finally he understood his partner's behavior since he had rescued him from that prison. In typical lone-wolf fashion, Callen had been dealing with this mutilation in silence. Sam's stomach felt nauseous when he thought about how many times he must had inadvertently caused Callen pain; an involuntary shudder ran through the strong man's body.

"Damn it G! Why didn't you tell me?" Sam said aloud in a burst of anger, then feeling immediately contrite, he gathered the unconscious man carefully in his arm and hugged him.

Sam always thought his partner had impeccable timing and of course it was now, that he chose to wake up. As he felt the smaller man start to struggle, Sam made shushing noises and tried to reassure his partner as he gently placed him back on the ground on his good side.

Callen woke up in a blaze of pain and disorientation and he groaned as he opened his eyes. One attribute Callen had always been favored with was the ability, even under duress, to quickly acclimate to his environment. It didn't take him long to spot Sam, who was sitting back on his haunches and remember what had happened, though he still know their location. Lying down was too vulnerable a position so in spite of the misery he was feeling he struggled to sit up.

Sam knew his partner well enough to understand why he was trying to sit so instead of lecturing him, Sam reached over and helped steady him. Once upright, Callen fought the dizziness that threatened to send him back to the ground. "Where are we?" he croaked with his head bowed.

"Cave. Near the lake," Sam replied as he watched Callen struggling to clear his head.

"Uh-huh. Did you haul me here by dragging me over the rocks." He moved his injured arm snug against his side then yelped when his ribs on that side let it be known they weren't happy. Swearing in Russian as was his habit, he gently ran his good hand over his left side, wincing when he hit the tender area. Slowly raising his head, he wearily looked at Sam. "When did I break my ribs?"

"Maybe at the same time when you got those marks on your back," Sam replied sarcastically. "The ones you failed to mention."

Callen let his gaze drift past Sam and out the mouth of the cave. "No. My ribs were intact when I was rescued from the prison..."

"...by me," Sam interjected.

"...by you," Callen agreed. "So it happened since then. I'm pretty sure they were OK when we jumped out of Zoya too."

Sam mock slapped his forehead. "Silly me. I know when it happened. You fell, when you tried to climb up the rocks by yourself with a bullet hole in your shoulder and a back that looks like it was mauled by a tiger."

Callen let out an unintentional sigh then grimaced when it made his ribs hurt. "Forgot that part."

"Like you forgot to mention your back," Sam huffed.

Callen let his eyes wander back to focus on Sam. "What difference would it have made? You needed to be focused on us escaping."

"I could have focused on us escaping as well as your back," Sam told him.

Callen snorted. "What could you have done Sam?" he asked caustically. "What was done was done."

Sam stared at his partner avidly. "I could have offered sympathy and morale support; that's what friends do. You went lone wolf on me again G.

Callen could see the hurt in his partner's and best friend's face and he felt bad. "I'm sorry Sam. But it's who I am. Being open to people gets you kicked in the face," he said in a rare moment of honesty.

"It's not being open that gets you kicked in the face, it's the fact that you are a pain in the butt," Sam muttered disagreeably.

But he instantly felt bad when Callen readily agreed. "Yeh, that's what the social workers and the teachers and the foster parents always told me. I was a pain, a burden." Callen tiredly lowered his eyes to the ground and an uncomfortable silence descended upon the cave.

Sam gently reached out and laid a warm hand on Callen's forearm. "I won't deny you are a pain in my ass sometimes, but never a burden my friend. But now, I'm about to make you hate me. We have got to take care of those wounds before we lose the light." Sam removed his hand and glanced back over his shoulder out the mouth of the grotto.

Callen turned his head and stared at the bullet wound on his left shoulder which was bleeding again. "You have to stop this bleeding Sam."

"Let's try a pressure bandage," Sam said rooting around in the medical kit. He pulled out a pair of latex gloves and snapped them on before grabbing the pack of the antiseptic pads. "This is gonna be unpleasant," Sam warned.

Callen sighed as he looked away. "Yeh it always is."

Unpleasant was too mild a word for the next few minutes of misery as Sam swabbed the bullet wounds and then applied a pressure bandage to cover the front and back holes. Callen was heavily sweating by the time Sam was done.

Sam sat back on his heels again, contemplating Callen's ravaged back. "I don't know what to do for these wounds G. Were they caused by what I think?"

"I don't know. Are you thinking whip wielding maniac?" Callen was glad Sam was sitting behind him because he didn't have to worry about controlling both his voice and face. Keeping his tone neutral, he told his tale. "Our Intel was bad. Corey wasn't on our side. He was the one that turned me over to them. The locals hauled me off and threw me in that cell where you found me. Every morning at sunrise they dragged me out into the courtyard and attached cuffs to my wrists and hauled me up until my toes barely touched the ground."

Callen's eyes traveled down to the abraded skin on his wrists and Sam's eyes tracked there too. Sam felt guilty he had failed to notice the marks on his partner's wrists.

Callen picked up his story again. "A crowd would gather, men and women, all robed, their faces obscured by their headgear. They would patiently wait for him to appear with the whip. He asked me the same question every day. 'Did I renounce my sins in the face of Allah.'" Callen swallowed hard though a small grin graced his face. "I have a lot of sins Sam. Not sure which ones they meant."

Sam finally put the pieces of the puzzle together from his knowledge base. "The buildings. The ones that were blown up."

"We had nothing to do with that!" Callen exclaimed consumed by his partner's suggestion.

"You know that and I know that but we are here on a covert operation so no one else knew that. White, American infidel who happened to be town when the buildings went boom. Perfect scapegoat," Sam declared. "Wrong place, wrong time."

Callen laughed bitterly. "You can say that again. Nineteen lashes every morning with that damn whip when I didn't confess."

"Sacred number," Sam expounded.

"Wishing their sacred number could have been two or better yet zero," Callen replied wryly. "When he was done, they shoved me back in my prison to wait until the next morning when the fun began all over again."

Sam hated how lightly Callen seemed to take this horrible event that occurred to him. "Why do you make a joke out of being tortured G?"

Callen shifted so he could see Sam's face. "Because if I don't, I'll lose my mind," he replied seriously. Callen bit his lower lip and shook his head. "Joking is the only way I can keep my sanity. I'm on the verge of losing it Sam."

Sam returned his gaze to Callen's mangled back. "These wounds are infected."

Callen nodded his head in concurrence. He figured as much since he knew he was running a low grade fever; had been since the second day of prison.

"I can give you an antibiotic shot. Hetty packed some." He grimaced as he examined the wounds again. "I can try to wash them out and apply disinfectant, but that's a big undertaking in this environment."

Callen didn't think he could survive that at the moment. "Might do as much harm as good."

"That's true," Sam concurred. "So just the shot it is." Sam rose and went back to the medical kit.

Callen eyed the syringe filled with antibiotics warily. "Could we forget that too?" he asked hopefully.

Sam halted his prepping of the needle and looked over at his partner. "Did I mention I have a satphone? I wasn't gonna use it until morning because I don't want to risk giving away our position tonight. But if you want, I'll call Hetty and we could ask her if you need this antibiotic shot."

Callen cocked his head slightly. "I believe you'd actually do that."

"Don't tempt me," Sam rallied.

Sighing Callen held out his good arm. "Be quick."

Sam swabbed the area with a clean disinfectant pad and swiftly injected the needle. When it was over, Callen remained silent. "Aren't you going to complain it hurt?" Sam asked out of curiosity. His partner never failed to grouse when being stuck by a needle.

Callen shook his head no. "Hardly noticed it. Too much other pain," he answered being brutally honest.

"I can give you something for that. Hetty has this kit well stocked," Sam explained. "She even sent morphine."

Callen shuddered at the mention of that painkiller. His track record with that drug wasn't particularly good and unless it was administered in conjunction with an anti-nausea drug he would become violently ill. Besides the nausea, it made him light-headed and messed with his mind. When he was hospitalized after his near fatal shooting, the doctors had found out the hard way that he and morphine was not a good combination. "Why would she do that?"

"Because it is the most effective painkiller for traumatic situations where it is keep moving or die," Sam answered. "And she packed other drugs to help you deal with the side effects."

"Why do you assume it is for me? Maybe she packed it for you." Sam raised his eyebrows at Callen who swore in Russian under his breath.

"Here," Sam said holding out some tablets and a bottle of water. "Motrin. It will help with the fever... save your breath denying you have one... and they might take a slight edge off the pain." San unscrewed the cap, handed him the pills first to pop in his mouth followed by the water to wash them down. After Callen took a few sips, he went to place the bottle of water on the ground.

"Ut-ah. Drink all of it and eat this," Sam held out an unwrapped protein bar. "All of it. Don't make me get out the satphone."

Callen knew he should be hungry and thirsty. He hadn't eat anything but a few cups of dirty water and bread crusts for three days, but his brain was so busy dealing with his pain, it didn't have a lot of time to process any other requests like hunger. He reluctantly took the bar and bit off a piece of it, chewing while Sam stared at him until he swallowed his mouthful.

"Good. Do that over and over until it is gone. I'm going to start a fire," Sam demanded as he rose from the ground.

When Sam's back was turned, Callen laid the bar on the ground and reached for his shirt. He was starting to get cold. Struggling, he finally got it in place and buttoned up.

"I would have helped if you'd asked," Sam's voice floated from across the cave where he was arranging the fuel for the fire. "Finish the food."

Callen scooped up the bar, which had only one bite out of it, took a second bite and chewed as he made his way back to the thermal blanket Sam had placed out earlier. Carefully arranging his body to cause the least amount of pain, he laid down. Shivering, he dropped the half-eaten bar on the ground and wrapped the blanket around his suddenly frigid body. He knew this was a result of his climbing fever and he wished it would stop as it hurt his injured ribs to shiver. Closing his eyes, he was unusually blessed to drift off to sleep.

Sam glanced over from his newly started fire to see his partner sacked out. He walked over and smoothly dragged his sleeping comrade across the stone floor nearer to the fire for warmth. Sam grabbed the backpack before lowering himself to the ground on the far side of the blaze where he could watch the entrance to the cave. It was fully dark now and a chill was setting in and Sam was glad for the warmth of the fire. It was giving off enough light that Sam disregard the lantern in the pack though he did pull out another protein bar and bottle of water to keep up his strength. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.


	5. Chapter 5

Callen was restless with fever induced dreams to supplement his normal nightmares. At one point he bolted upwards into a sitting position which, considering his current injury set was no small feat. His eyes sprang open and wildly looked around for whatever had been tormenting him in his dreams. Sam, who'd been catnapping, instantly woke and moved to his partner's side trying to calm him down. Callen's breathing was ragged as he fought his way out of his nightmare.

Finally, Callen's eyes cleared and Sam could see he was back in the present. "You past the slugging stage?" Sam asked referring to Callen's nasty tendency to come up swinging when unexpectedly awoken.

"Yeh, no I'm good," Callen replied settling back into a more comfortable position. He felt something warm and wet running down his chest. Unbuttoning his shirt and easing it off his injured shoulder, he saw the bandage Sam had placed on the bullet wound earlier was blood-soaked and more was seeping out from underneath it.

"That doesn't look good G." Even in the dim firelight Sam could see the blood trails. "The bullet must have nicked the suprascapular artery on the way thru since the entry point is below the clavicle. We have to stop that bleeding. I know it is not a lot, but given how much you have already lost and your current condition..." Sam's voice trailed off.

"Got a knife in that bag of tricks?" Callen asked in a deceptively mild voice. Sam's eyes grew wide understanding the implication. "There's no other way Sam. It is the only method that is going to hold up to what we need to do over the next few days if we are going to make it home," Callen said patiently, knowing he was right and hating that he was at the same time.

Sam bit his lower lip and Callen almost thought for a moment the big guy was going to refuse. "I could do it myself, but it would be a little awkward. Shall we call our favorite ninja and ask her advice?"

Sam silently rose and dug the knife out of the bag. It was a hunting style knife with a wide blade. Taking an antiseptic wipe out of its package, he carefully wiped down both sides of the blade. With trepidation showing on his handsome face, Sam laid the blade in the fire.

Grabbing another disinfectant wipe, he moved back over to where Callen sat and removed his shirt totally. He took the bandages off the two wounds and wiped them clean with the antiseptic. Callen watched quietly as Sam performed his administrations.

"Have you ever done this before?" Callen asked as he eyed the knife in the fire.

"Once," Sam replied. "It wasn't pretty." He took a branch off the pile of wood and broke off a 12 inch piece before handing it to Callen. "You might want this."

Callen accepted the offering and twirled it with his fingers while Sam rotated back to the fire to check on the blade. It was glowing red and Sam knew it was ready.

"Make it fast," Callen said with a bit of a pleading tone to his voice.

Sam took the knife out of the fire and when he turned around, Callen was waiting with the stick between his teeth. He wished Callen would close his eyes or at least look away, but his partner tracked the progress of the blade towards his flesh. Sam moved quickly but carefully, placing the red-hot blade against the front bullet entry wound in Callen's left shoulder. Callen's body shuddered when the fiery metal touched his skin and the smell of searing flesh met their noses. Sam held the blade firm, counting silently in his mind. When he thought the wound was cauterized, he removed the blade and examined the hole; the bleeding had stopped.

Callen was barely holding his own and Sam had to steady him with his left hand to keep him from toppling over after he removed the knife. A few unbidden tears were making rivulets down Callen's dirt covered face. Sam reached out, wrapped his arm around Callen's head and drew G's forehead against his own chest. Callen didn't struggle in Sam's comforting embrace.

They stayed like that for a few moments until finally Sam pushed Callen back up and looked deep into his pain-wracked blue orbs. "We have to do the back one too," he said quietly.

In way of an answer, Callen searched for the stick he had removed from his mouth and held it up. Sam nodded and replaced the knife in the fire. He wiped his own sweating forehead on the base of his shirt. It hurt him to cause such agony in his partner even if he knew it was probably saving his life.

This time the minute the hot blade touched the exit wound, Callen passed out because as hard as Sam tried, he couldn't keep the blade from touching the edge of one of the whip slashes. By the time he was done counting and the wound was sealed, Sam was almost in tears. But he fought them back; he had to finish up. Knowing infection was still a big risk, Sam got out more pads and swabbed the area thoroughly with disinfectant again. Even though he was passed out, Callen let out a small moan which let Sam know he was feeling the pain.

Sam made a decision which wasn't going to be popular with his partner when he found out, but Sam didn't care; it was the right thing to do. Going back to the medical kit he removed two syringes, one full of morphine and one of Maxolon; the first would dull the pain and the second quell the nausea. Loosening Callen's jeans, he pulled them down enough to expose a section of the cheek into which, after he swabbed the area, he quickly injected the two needles.

As Sam cleaned up, he kept watch on the time. About fifteen minutes after he had injected the morphine, it started to take effect; Callen's breathing steadied and he slipped into a peaceful sleep.

After making sure Callen was wrapped in the blanket, Sam moved back to his spot on the far side of the fire again. He was mentally and physically drained after what they had both just gone through. He closed his eyes to catch few hours of sleep before dawn.


	6. Chapter 6

As first light hit the entrance of their bolt hole, Sam woke up. The fire had burned low so Sam stoked it a little to keep it going until after breakfast. Callen was still sleeping quietly which pleased Sam; the injured man would need all the strength he could muster to get thru the next few days.

After making a trip outside, Sam returned and forged in the backpack he was starting to think of as a cousin to Mary Poppins's valise; it seemed like whatever was required was within its canvas seams. He found an MRE and set it cooking, knowing it took about 12 minutes for it to complete. Meanwhile, he put water in camp mug and set it by the fire to heat. When it was hot, he added the contents of a dry soup package, gave it a stir and set it back down to keep warm. That was the easy part. Trying to get his partner to ingest it would be a lot harder. He knew when Callen was under the influence of morphine he felt queasy most of the time and had to be forced to eat. In the hospital, they could drip nutrients in a tube attached to his arm; out here that was not an option. Sam was going to have to get that soup down his partner's throat.

When his MRE was done, Sam sat down to eat it. He knew it was going to be gross but he also knew he needed the calorie dense food to keep going. As he ate, Callen began to stir and Sam had an uncharitable thought that the floor show was about to begin, kind of like dinner and a movie except it was breakfast and an ornery partner.

As Callen's eyes cracked open, he saw it was nearly light out. He was stiff and sore, but surprised to find his pain was tamped back to a dull roar. He was still mulling over that concept as he attempted to sit up. After that was successfully accomplished he went for broke and decided to stand. The moment he got vertical his head and his stomach caught up with the movement and began to rebel. Sam watched as Callen stumbled out of the cave to dry heave the empty contents of his stomach outside. After a few minutes it grew quiet again so Sam dug out a water bottle and set it on the ground by his side before he went back to eating. After a few other familiar noises outside, Callen shuffled back into the cave and Sam simply held out a bottle of water which Callen grabbed in passing. Twisting off the cap, Callen rinsed out his mouth before swallowing a few mouthfuls. He leveraged his body to the ground and glared at Sam who studiously ignored him.

"You did it, didn't you," Callen accused Sam, his face displaying his annoyance.

Sam merely grunted an affirmative sound.

"Even though you know what it does to me," Callen pointed out.

Sam shrugged. "I gave you the Maxolon too. There's soup by the fire. Drink it."

Callen gave him an incredulous stare. "I just got done throwing up and you want me to eat?"

Sam glanced up from his meal. "You dry heaved proving my point that there is nothing in your stomach and you need to eat. We have long march ahead of us."

"I'll barf," Callen said like a petulant child.

Sam shook his head. "No you won't. I told you, I gave you the Maxolon, in your ass if you are wondering."

"Gee thanks," Callen said sarcastically. "Couldn't find my arm in the dark?"

Sam took a few more mouthfuls of food. "Saving that site for later. Figured it would be easier to give you a shot in the arm when we are on the move than elsewhere."

Callen shook his head no. "Ut-ah. There will be no more shots, anywhere."

Sam sighed, placed down his half-finished meal, leaned over, plucked the cup of soup from the edge of the fire and set it within Callen's reach before resuming his meal. "There will be another shot, actually two, in a few hours. Drink that soup before it gets cold. Please don't make me force you. I'm trying to eat in peace."

Callen watched his partner, who went back to eating his MRE before he picked up the cup and took a few cautious sips; at least Sam hadn't tried to make him ingest solid food. The soup seemed to be staying where it belonged so Callen drank some more, surprised when he realized he had drained the cup.

"See was that so hard?" Sam asked.

Callen grinned a little. "I'll let you know when I stand up."

Sam handed him back his half-finished water bottle and Callen drank that too. "What's the plan?"

Sam set his empty meal container aside. "Judging from what I saw on the helicopter's GPS before we bailed, I'd put our reckoning at 80 miles south of the sea. I'll check the DAGR before we go," he said referring to the military-style GPS device he carried in his pack. He glanced down at his watch. "We'll walk south for two hours and then try to call home."

Callen ran a hand over his stubbly face. "They can't come inland to get us. We have to make it to the sea."

"Yep. You up to it?" Sam asked. "Because I'm not in the mood to carry you."

Callen sighed. "You are so sympathetic."

"Uh-huh. Undo your shirt. Let me see the wound." Reluctantly, Callen did as told and they both peered at the burned flesh. "Looks like it is working," Sam said examining the bullet holes.

"I hope so," Callen said fervently. "Once, make that twice, was enough."

Sam nodded his head. "I hear you. For both of us."

Callen caught Sam's eye. "Thanks Sam. That couldn't have been easy for you."

Sam sighed. "Not as hard as it was on you. But that's what friends are for," he replied. Sam got up, went over to the backpack and returned with a syringe. "Time for another antibiotic shot," he declared uncapping the needle. Sam swore his partner turned paler under his grime.

"How about no," Callen replied reaching for his shirt.

Sam moved the shirt out of Callen's reach. "How about this isn't a debate." Moving closer to Callen's side he ripped open the disinfectant pad. Pretending to glance at his partner's back he said conversationally, "Do you know there is actual green pus oozing out of your back."

"What?" Callen said whipping his head around trying unsuccessfully to see his own back. In that moment of distraction, Sam swabbed his bicep and administered the shot.

"Hey," Callen barked, his head rapidly swinging back towards Sam who reached over and flung Callen's shirt at him. Grumbling, Callen picked it up and eased his way into the garment.

As Callen was finishing up securing his shirt, Sam tossed a bottle of suntan lotion at his feet. "Put it on," Sam commanded.

"You put it on," Callen shot back rather stupidly. The residual effects of the morphine were muddling his wits. "On you, not on me," he tried to recover and then realized that sounded even stupider than his first comment.

"Hetty's orders," Sam said ignoring his partner's off-the-wall comments and gesturing to the bottle.

Sure enough, written on the bottle in black permanent marker were the words 'For Callen' in her unmistakable script. More cursing by Callen in Russian followed and Sam threatened to tattle Hetty.

"Your Russian is not that good, especially for the slang," Callen accused.

"Been around you enough years, I've gotten pretty good at the curse words," Sam replied.

Grumbling, Callen applied the lotion to his face and neck before tossing the bottle back to Sam in a very unsportsmanlike manner.

"You missed a spot, but I won't tell Hetty," was all Sam said as he picked up the backpack and they headed out of the cave into the morning sunshine.

Once outside, Sam pulled out the DAGR, acquired the satellites and got their position. When he confirmed where they were, he switched to using a compass to save the battery. Technology was great, but old fashion reckoning also worked.

Sam set out due south and Callen trailed along behind. Once they cleared the rocky area, the terrain got flatter and easier to navigate, though the temperature climbed as the morning wore on. Sam could tell when the morphine shot he gave his partner was wearing off. His gait grew more uneven and as much as he tried to hide it, Sam could detect the pain on Callen's face especially in the lines around his eyes.

After they had been on the move for two hours, Sam stopped in the shade of an outcropping of rocks. Callen gladly dropped to the ground to rest. Sam took off the backpack and dug out an antiseptic pad and two syringes. "Roll up your sleeve G," he demanded.

Callen eyed the needles with undisguised hatred. "No."

Sam squatted on the ground in front of him holding up the needles. "You are not going to make it without theses."

Callen wanted to hate Sam for what he was saying, but he couldn't because he knew the man was right. The pain level was about to drive him mad; he wouldn't last another 2 miles let alone the distance they needed to travel. His tongue darted out of his mouth and swiped his upper lip. "Sam that junk makes me sick."

"Which is why I'm also going to give you an anti-nausea shot too," Sam explained patiently.

Stalling wasn't going to make it any easier, so with a sigh, Callen rolled up his sleeve on his good arm. Sam swiped the area and Callen looked away as Sam stuck one, then the other needle in his arm. When he was done, Sam rolled down Callen's sleeve; he still refused to look at him.

"It's done," Sam said quietly as if Callen couldn't tell.

"Struggling with the word 'thanks' here," Callen said honestly as the first wave of queasiness washed over him.

"Give it a few minutes to work. In thirty minutes you'll be feeling no pain," Sam predicted.

Callen closed his eyes and tried to remain very still. "If I don't barf up a lung first."

Leaving Callen to rest, Sam disposed of the medical waste then pulled out the satphone praying it worked. Sam gave a huge sigh of relief when he heard Eric's voice. "It's Sam, Eric."

"Oh my god Sam we were so worried. Is Callen with you?" Eric asked even as he was motioning for Nell to get Hetty as he switched Sam to speaker.

"Yes he is," Sam's voice rang out in the Ops Center.

Hetty must have sprinted up the stairs because when Eric turned around she was there. "Sam," she said cheerfully. "It is good to hear your voice. Where are you?"

"Hopefully Eric is tracing this call and can tell me. I think we are about 60 miles from the sea," Sam surmised.

Nell's voice rang out. "Closer to 80 but what are a few miles among friends."

Sam glanced over at Callen worried; that was a lot of miles to cover in his deteriorating condition.

Once again Hetty read his mind. "How is Callen, Sam?"

Sam continued to stare at his partner who was sitting extremely still waiting for the Maxolon to kick in. "Wanna talk to Hetty?" Sam asked offering up the satphone which got him a glare from the clearly not amused man. "Ah Hetty, he can't come to the phone right now."

"Do I want to know why?" she asked drily.

"Everything is under control," Sam answered evasively which earned him a half-hearted 'thumbs up' from his partner before he closed his eyes again.

"Very well. You know best," I hope, she added under her breath.

"I'll call you again tomorrow at this time. Check our progress and we can discuss extradition," Sam stated.

"The ship and SEAL team is on standby. Ready to deploy on my signal," Hetty assured him.

"Wow, what is that costing you," Sam remarked with a low whistle.

"Don't ask. Be safe. Until tomorrow," Hetty concluded.

"Roger that. Out," Sam replied before switching off the unit. He glanced over at Callen, walked to the backpack, stowed the phone, grabbed another bottle of water and brought it over to Callen. "Wheels up in fifteen. Drink this," he instructed shoving the bottle at Callen, who grasped it and then dropped it in his lap.

"If I open my eyes will I see a plane or at least a jeep?" Callen inquired.

"Nope. In this case the wheels are your feet," Sam said a little too cheerfully for Callen's taste.

"Great," Callen said, opening his eyes anyway. "Another day in paradise."


	7. Chapter 7

During the morning hours, the duo made good progress southward. At first, the morphine worked its magic and Callen was easily keeping up with Sam in spite of the raising temperatures. Around noon, Sam called a halt and they rested in the shade of a small scrubby tree.

Not that he would admit it, but Callen was happy for the breather. He carefully leveraged his battered body to the hard ground and without argument, took the water Sam offered him along with a protein bar. The repast helped raise his flagging energy levels which were being ravaged by the constant dull, throbbing of his back and shoulder. The drugs were keeping it tolerable, but he could tell they were starting to wear off once again. Combine that with the fever he was still fighting and the hot, midday sun and this trek became anything but walk in the park. Still, they had no other choice at the moment so when they were rested, by silent mutual agreement, they rose as one and started walking again.

When Sam called the next rest break hours later, Callen didn't even attempt to carefully lower his body to the ground; he literally collapsed in a heap. Sam didn't have to pull out the DAGR to confirm what he knew, their progress, which had been good in the morning, had been severely less in the afternoon. Callen had done his best to keep the pace Sam set, but his body was betraying him. When Sam saw Callen collapse on the ground when they stopped to rest, he decided to search for a place to camp for the night. Though they had at least two hours of daylight left, Sam didn't think Callen could make it another step.

"I'm going to go scout the area, look for a motel," Sam joked.

In a daze, Callen instinctively rose to his feet to follow Sam, took two steps and tumbled back to the ground.

Even though Sam was fighting down his panic at his partner's condition, he said, "Yeh, you wait here with the car."

Callen gave him a haphazard wave goodbye as he flopped over on his right side and curled into the fetal position. Sam started over towards his partner then stopped. Going over there wasn't going to tell him anything more than he already knew and would only get him accused of 'mothering'. Callen was in a relatively safe place, given their locale and it was more important to find a place to hunker down for the night so Sam took note of the time and set off to check the surrounding area.

They were in the lowlands of a series of hills and Sam was fortunate enough to find a sheltered, secluded area on the edge of a clear running stream. Using the water kit from his pack, he tested the water and determined the stream was portable which solved a big problem as they had been running low on drinking water. Hiking back to where he had left Callen, he was dismayed to see his buddy hadn't moved but even more disturbing was he didn't acknowledge Sam's presence until Sam physically touched him. At that point Callen's eyes had sluggishly opened and blearily focused on Sam, though the taller man wasn't sure the injured man recognized him.

"Rise and shine. Found us a campsite," Sam told his muddled partner.

Callen blinked and opened his eyes all the way and ran his tongue over his parched lips. He made a feeble attempt to rise but it took Sam's assistance for him to get totally off the ground. After taking two steps, Callen's knees began to buckle and Sam reached out to hold him up without placing a hand anywhere on Callen's multitude of injuries; it wasn't easy.

"Callen, walk," Sam said sharply trying to get his friend's mind to focus on the task at hand.

The shorter man shook his head and seemed to snap back to reality, at least temporality. He broke free of Sam and stood on his on his own, albeit unsurely, unassisted. "I'm good," he muttered as he started stumbling away, in the wrong direction. Sam got him turned around and they started the short trek towards the stream.

"Do you even know what the word 'good' means?" Sam asked his partner, trying to engage him in conversation hoping it would keep him focused enough to make it to the camp site.

"Uh-huh. Good. Free from injury or disease; not depreciated; commercially sound," he rattled off and Sam was rather impressed his buddy's mind had been able to call up such a coherent, text book answer.

"Хороший, bueno, gut, bon, virty, goed, bem, got," Callen added saying 'good' in several languages.

"See, now you're just showing off," Sam scolded him and Callen gave him a little smirk which made Sam happy. Usually he wanted to wipe that infuriating grin off his partner' face but he had hardly seen it since they'd started this trek and Sam took it as a good sign. "Let's go back to the definition for a moment shall we. I believe you said good meant free of injury or disease. Based on that, how can you rate your current condition as good?"

"Bueno?"

"You're not Hispanic G. You're Romani. How do you say 'good' in that language," Sam queried anything to keep his partner alert and walking.

Callen mentally paused for a moment before responding. "Khushti," he said slowly. "Khushti chava. My mother use to say that to me." He was quiet for a few seconds before speaking again in a low, strained voice. "Khushti chava. No one has ever said that to me since she died." Callen voice caught and he went quiet.

"Translation please. I don't speak Romani," Sam prodded and after his friend answered, he wished he'd left it alone.

Callen's tone became tender with a touch of awe. "My mother used to tell me I was a good boy. I remember her saying that." Then his voice switched to bitter and flat. "No one in any of my foster homes ever told me I was good." After a quick beat he added, "I take that back. They did. But the phrase was a good for nothing boy."

Sam looked over at his partner whose face had grown cold and impassive. "Your mother was right. You are good, a pain in the ass sometimes, but good." Sam was happy when he realized he could hear the stream. "Almost there," Sam added awkwardly and silence reigned as they walked the last few yards to the steam.

Once they got to the spot Sam had chosen for their camp, he made Callen sit on a rock while he arranged the site to his specifications. He built a shallow fire pit using the grey rocks that lined the edge of the stream and then laid the thermal blanket on the ground near its edge; only then did he allow Callen to lay down, afraid that once the battered man hit the blanket he might never raise again for a very long time.

Once Sam had Callen settled in as comfortable position as possible, he went to the stream and filled all their canteens. As he was filling the last bottle, he saw a splash further out in the water and it made a small smile come to his face. Fish.

"Feel like fish for dinner G?" Sam joked as he strolled back into the camp. When he didn't receive a response, sarcastic or otherwise, he took a closer look at his partner and saw he was either asleep or unconscious. Walking over and checking his pulse Sam found it was racing again and he could feel the heat pouring off Callen's skin. Moving back over to the backpack, he brought out the medkit and debated his limited options. He had one syringe left of each morphine and Maxolon, neither which would help with Callen's high fever. There was one shot of antibiotics left but that was supposed to be once a day and it was too soon for a repeat dosage. That only left the Motrin. Grabbing the maximum allowable dosage, Sam filled a cup with water, took it over by Callen and sat down next to his partner.

"G," he spoke softly, "I need you to wake up buddy." Callen muttered something in Russian as he tried to roll away from Sam. Keeping his face neutral but cringing inside, Sam physically manhandled Callen into a seated position trying his best not to place his hands anywhere that would hurt even though he knew that was impossibility. Once he had Callen sitting, Sam shook him lightly trying to rouse him. The fatigued man resignedly opened his eyes but Sam could see there was no recognition in them as to who he was or what was going on. But Sam didn't care since his only goal was to get the Motrin in his friend; hopefully that would reduce the fever and bring Callen back to reality. It wasn't easy and it wasn't pretty, but Sam finally got Callen to swallow the pills. When it was accomplished, he lightly laid Callen down and covered him with the edge of the thermal blanket, though Callen immediately flung it off mumbling 'hot'.

Getting up, Sam snagged a forehead thermometer strip from the medical kit and applied it to Callen's hot forehead. Sam was surprised when it didn't register a temperature. Deciding it must be defective; Sam laid the strip aside, opened a new one and stuck it to Callen's forehead. That one also failed to register a temperature. Peeling it off carefully, he reapplied it to his own forehead for a minute, took it off and saw it registered 98 degrees. Sam repeated the same test with the first one he had used on Callen and got the same result which led him to believe his partner's temperature must be higher than 104 degrees, the highest reading on the strip.

Not sure of anything else to do at the moment other than to give the Motrin a chance to work, Sam got up and went to search for fuel to build a fire. It wasn't hard as there were trees around and dried windfall was easy to find. After he collected enough to last thru the night, he built a fire as the sun began to set.

In the dying twilight, Sam went over and examined Callen again who alternated between shivering, curled tightly in a ball and flinging off the blanket; sweat matted his short hair and ran down his flushed face. Sam tried unsuccessfully to get Callen in ingest some more water knowing dehydration was going to be a problem. The smaller man fought him and panicked when Sam tried to force him to drink so Sam gave up, figuring the stress wasn't good for his partner either.

Though he had no way of an accurately measuring Callen's temperature, instinctually Sam knew it was rising as the night wore on. Callen's thrashings grew violent, punctuated by moments of stillness that rattled Sam even more; he kept going over to the man to reassure his mind that Callen was still alive.

Callen started writhing again so violently that once again Sam hurried to his side and held the fever-ravaged man to his own chest, trying to calm him and stop him from being injured. Sam could feel the heat from Callen's bare skin through his shirt and it felt like the hottest wooden bench Sam had ever sat on in a sauna.

As the cycle broke again, Callen went limp though Sam continued to hold him cradled to his muscular chest. Checking his pulse, Sam could feel it was racing; he had to get Callen's temperature lowered. In the case of heat stroke, hospitals used cold packs around the body to lower temperature. Sam didn't have any of them here but he did have the stream he thought as he eyed the slow moving water in the moonlight; maybe it could serve the same purpose.

The night air wasn't as cold as it had been when they were at the higher elevations of the foothills but still, Sam wanted dry clothes for when they came out of the water. He stripped G down to his briefs and did the same himself before picking up the man in his arms and carrying him to the water. Wading in carefully with his bare feet, he found an area that was a bit deeper and he carefully sank down into the water bringing Callen with him. He found a rock ledge under the surface and sat, holding Callen's head above water but letting his body float in the stream's gentle current. Though the water wasn't overly cold, it probably felt that way to Callen's overheated body and the injured man squirmed, forcing Sam to tighten his grip.

At one point, Callen started convulsing and Sam had to adjust his hold so as not to let Callen's face slip under the surface. As he repositioned his hands, he accidentally pressed on Callen's broken ribs and the man screamed out in his delirium.

_In Callen's mind, he was lost in an old memory from when he was a small boy. He'd been about eight at the time and had already cycled through a number of foster homes. His current home was a particularly strict one and Callen the boy had struggled to learn the rules and avoid being punished. The man of the household had a quick temper which could be triggered by the most inconsequential of things. The wife, afraid of her husband, never interfered when he was disciplining the foster children. How the state had ever found them to be suitable as foster parents was a mystery, though many such homes like theirs managed to slip through the cracks and get into the system. Some people wanted the meager money the state paid to foster a child and they lied thru their teeth to qualify as a good home._

_Callen remembered he had been walking home from school that day along the river. He used to enjoy watching the stream; it was one of the few pleasures he had in this home. When he'd seen the group of older boys ahead, he had started to turn away, trying to escape unnoticed because he knew what would happen If he couldn't. However, he had not been successful and he had soon been surrounded by the six older boys. _

_The verbal abuse had started first with hateful words that he had heard all his short life. Even though he was only eight, he had already learned the art of letting the words slide off him, at least in public. When words hadn't brought the desired results the bullies were looking for, they had turned physical, knocking him to the ground, beating and kicking him. Finally, they had shoved him down a muddy slope towards the river. By the time he had reached the bottom, he was covered in mud and sand. The ruffian's final act had been to grab him by his arms and legs, swing him between them like a hammock rocking in the breeze and fling him into the river. _

_Luckily, he had been taught how to swim at an early age so he was in no danger of drowning. However, his ordeal had left him dazed and he had fumbled about as he climbed out the far side of the river. The bullies, tired of their sport, had wandered away leaving Callen, bedraggled and muddy siting on the side of the stream. The water streaming down his summer bleached blond hair had mixed with the silent tears that were rolling down his face. _

_Eventually, when he had stood up, he had gasped when a terrible pain radiated from his ribcage. He didn't know it at the time, but he had experienced his first broken rib. Moving carefully, trying to avoid the excruciating pain, Callen had made his way home._

_His foster father had a bad day at work and was in a foul mood by the time he arrived home. His wife had sensed his anger and was doing her best to appease him while at the same time staying out of his way. He had demanded to know where the boy was and when his wife said he was late returning from school, that only fueled his anger. They had been warned by the social worker that this particular eight-year old could be hard to handle. He had made up his mind to teach the boy a lesson about tardiness when he finally showed up._

_Twenty minutes later when Callen had come sloshing into the yard, his foster father had been waiting for him. Not only was the boy late, but his clothes were ripped and he had been covered in dirt and mud which had further incised the father. He'd grabbed the boy by the arm and dragged him into the back yard. Callen had let out a small yelp when his ribs protested the mistreatment of being hauled around which earned him a backhand to the mouth and a lecture on being a man. _

_Callen had stood where he was told, shivering in a combination of fear and cold as the foster father had dragged out the garden hose. The man had accused him of being an inconsiderate, slovenly, pig and had turned the hose on him full force. Callen had stood there first in shock and then in resignation, knowing if he tried to run, the punishment when he got caught would be twice as bad; life had already taught him that lesson. He had meekly stood there and allowed himself to be hosed down, embarrassed but striping down to his underwear when told to do so by his hose wielding foster father._

_At one point the cold, harsh stream of water hit his broken ribs square-on and Callen had screamed. The furious man had swung the nozzle of the hose at the boy which caught him square in the chest, knocking the unsuspecting boy to the grass. His foster father had called him all sorts of names and hit him repetitively with the hose before he demanded the boy stand up and behave like a man. Callen had done his best to comply even as tears were streaming down his face, but like the first time, they were undetectable as they mixed with the rest of the water._

_The hosing had begun again and Callen had tried to bite down on his lip to stop his betraying voice from ringing out, even when the pain was overwhelming but he wasn't successful and he had cried out again in pain. He had begged and pleaded with the man to stop but his foster father had continued until he was satisfied the lesson had been learned._

Back in the present, when Sam accidentally pressed on Callen's broken ribs, the man, lost in the past had started whimpering and crying. "Please, please don't hit me with the hose," he simpered. "I didn't mean it."

Startled by the outburst, Sam looked down at Callen's face which was twisted with terror.

"I didn't get dirty on purpose Sir. The older boys attacked me, threw me in the river. I'm only eight. I tried to fight them off but there were six of them. I tried my best. I really did!" Callen's eyes flew open and he wildly looked about. "Don't hurt me, don't hurt me," he blubbered. "I know I'm wrong. I'm stupid. I'm trash."

Sam was horrified by what was coming out of Callen's mouth. Was this a true memory? Had someone really treated him this cruelly when he was only eight years old?

"Please, please don't hurt me anymore," he repeated. "I'll stand here. I'll be good. Just don't hit me."

Not knowing what to do to break Callen out of this fever memory, he simply did the only thing he could, hold the man close and tried to reassure him with words. "No one's gonna hit you anymore. I'll protect you."

"I'm not crying because of what you are doing to me Sir. I'm crying because my side hurts. But I'll stop now." Callen have a big sniff and raised his good hand and wiped it across his closed eyes. "See. I have stopped. I'm not crying. I'm trying to be a good boy. I am. It's just so hard," Callen's whimpered, his voice trailing off.

Sam stroked his wet, brown hair. "I know you are trying. You're doing your best. You are a good boy."

"No I'm not," Callen said vehemently. "If I was a good boy my parents would have loved me, kept me, and not left me in an orphanage. They didn't want me. No one does." With those final words, Callen sunk back into a deeper level of senselessness and stopped struggling.

After that they sat quietly, Callen unconsciousness and Sam wrestling with the terrible story he had just heard; it had disturbed him on many levels. Sam wasn't innocent; he knew terrible things happened in the world, that people were capable of horrible acts of cruelty. But it was one thing to know they happened, but totally another to know it happened to someone he considered a brother.

Callen occasionally made off-hand remarks about his childhood and Sam knew it had been a harsh one with more bad than good. But the man never really shared anything about his past except when he was caught off-guard, like when he'd been looking at old photos of his boyhood days and had distractedly told Deeks and Kensi he'd been beaten with a broom handle. He confessed to them it had gotten him kicked out of that home because he had turned the tables on the beater and gave him a taste of his own medicine. Occasionally, the agent also shared a story when he was interrogating a suspect, trying to get them to open up. But in those moments, Sam was never sure how much was real and how much was Callen fabricating a lie; Callen never said and out of respect Sam never asked. If the few hints about his childhood that Callen had shared were true, Sam thought it was miraculous that the man who was his partner and best friend wasn't more screwed up. Callen had his faults and idiosyncrasies, things that ran counter to Sam whose morals and ideas which were formed by a strong mother and the SEAL program. However, the bottom line was Callen was a good man, loyal to a fault to his country and the few people he called friends. Sam was proud and honored to be both his partner and a friend.

Placing a hand on Callen's head, he slid it down to his forehand and noted that the man seemed cooler. Perhaps the fever had finally broken. Standing up and using the waning light of the moon, Sam carried Callen back to the fire and laid him on the blanket. The one thing that wasn't in the magical satchel was a towel, so Sam used his own shirt to carefully dry Callen, leaving his back alone, before his dressed the man. He was glad Callen didn't wake during the process because he knew his friend would be embarrassed. When he had been in the hospital recovering from the horrific shooting that nearly ended his life, Callen had driven the nursing staff to distraction with trying to do everything on his own. At times it had taken a combination of drugs, restraints, Hetty and Sam to get him to cooperate and behave.

After wrapping Callen in the blanket and adding a few pieces of wood to the fire, Sam laid his own weary body on the ground and let sleep overtake him. Tomorrow would be another long day.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was up when Sam opened his eyes the next day and that wasn't the only thing. Callen was sitting upright on the blanket drinking from a canteen and eating a protein bar. Sam was amazed to see his partner sitting calmly and eating after last night's episode. Pushing up into a seated position, Sam addressed Callen. "You're eating."

"I know you have one dose of morphine left and I suspect you are going to jab me with it again so I thought I'd eat first. This way I'll have something to throw up when the nausea hits. Dry heaves seem so unproductive," Callen finished sarcastically.

"If you feel better we can skip the needle," Sam said hoping his partner would concur and he was disappointed and scared when Callen didn't immediately agree to forego the shot like he always did when offered medical assistance; to Sam, it meant Callen was seriously hurting and had major doubts himself about his ability to function without the help of the drugs.

Callen placed the half-eaten bar on the ground next to him and stared off into the distance. Even from where Sam sat, he could see the frustration and concern overlaid in Callen's blue eyes. "Yeh, well unless you have a car tucked away somewhere nearby, I assume we are going on another forced march today. I'm not sure I can do that without the help of the drugs. Hell, I'm not sure I can even do it with the drugs," he said being brutally honest. Callen glanced over at Sam to judge his reaction to his last speech. He saw concern in his partner's eyes and something else. "What's going on Sam?" he demanded, turning to fully face his friend.

"Nothing," Sam said casually as he stretched out his upper body. "You were running a high fever last night. It broke. Do you remember?"

Callen scrubbed his hand over his increasing stubble. He had sensitive skin, not that he would ever admit that to anyone and shaving too often left his face irritated so he had gotten into the habit of not shaving every day. Luckily, in his line of work that was acceptable. But this stubble was getting annoying and he wished he could shave it off. Finally he got around to answering Sam's question. "Not really. Why?"

Sam stood up and wandered off to answer the call of nature. "No reason," he called back over his shoulder as he disappeared.

The fact that Sam said there was no reason, meant there was a reason. Callen wracked his fuzzy brain but he couldn't recall anything that happened last night. He panicked internally when he realized he couldn't recall much since they had bailed out of Zoya into the water; in fact, he wasn't even sure of the day. When Sam returned, Callen offhandedly asked, "What day is it?"

Grabbing a MRE and canteen, Sam slid on to the ground near Callen, eating it cold while looking out over the stream. He suspected G's memory was being ravaged by the torture, dehydration, drugs and fever of the last few days so he laid out a timeline for his ailing partner without further embarrassing him. "You were captured on Tuesday afternoon. I rescued you on Friday. Saturday we jumped in the lake. Saturday night we slept in a three-star cave. Sunday morning we took an invigorating hike thru the foothills and last night we slept here. Therefore, today is Monday; beginning of a new work week."

Sam watched Callen process all the information and he could tell his friend was trying not to be upset by how much he didn't recall. "You're injured G. It's alright," but the look on Callen's face showed plainly it was not.

Never one to appear vulnerable for long, G did what he always did, shied away from the real subject with a snarky remark. "I would have cooked you eggs and bacon," Callen said vaguely waving at the MRE Sam was eating, "but I couldn't find the eggs, bacon or frying pan. Who packed for this little vacation anyway?"

"Hetty. Got a complaint, take it up with her, when we _both_ get back," Sam suggested.

"Might just do that," Callen said with bravado even though both men knew he wouldn't do,it. Callen had admitted once out loud that Hetty scared him a little.

When he was finished eating, Sam cleaned up the camp area, threw the suntan lotion at his partner again, ensured the fire was well dampened and filled the canteens. As he was getting ready to pack the bag, he looked over at Callen who had moved from the blanket to lean against a nearby rock.

"It's that time," Sam said.

"Unless you are planning to pull a Miller beer out of that backpack, it is not that time," Callen retorted.

Sam held up the syringe of antibiotics. "You need this G. I can tell by the way you're standing that the gunshot wound is as infected as are the ones on your back. This might just keep the infection at bay long enough to get you to a real medical facility."

Callen hated that Sam knew him well enough to tell by his stance how hurt he was; he had to figure out what tell he was displaying that Sam was homing in on. "Hate hospitals," he grumbled.

"Don't I know it," Sam agreed moving towards Callen with the ever familiar disinfectant pad and the dreaded needle. "But I don't want to break in new partner. I nearly have you trained. Roll up your sleeve." Callen looked at him plaintively and Sam added, "Right, I forgot. You can't move your other arm today can you."

"I can," he shot back as Sam rolled up the sleeve on his good arm. "It just hurts, a little."

"Yeh, right." Sam was getting very good at this; a quick swipe, followed by the stick and it was over. He rolled down G's sleeve again before walking away.

"That's how you knew," Callen burst out thinking he had nailed his tell. "That I was worse. You saw that I wasn't using my arm."

"That's only one of the tells I observed," Sam agreed playing with Callen's mind a bit knowing the agent would secretly obsess over what tells he was displaying and maybe that distraction would help get him through the morning. Sam slung the pack over his shoulder. "You ready?"

Callen pushed off the rock and stood. "You're not going to bug me about the morphine shot?" Callen asked as he caught up to Sam who had started heading south again.

"No. Do you want me too? There is only one dose left. Thought I'd save it for a real emergency," Sam replied mildly.

"Good idea," though Sam wasn't so sure Callen's face reflected the same sentiment that came out his mouth. "So what's the agenda today, tour guide? And by the way, yesterday's sights, not so spectacular. You better up the ante or your tip gonna suffer."

"Ha. You don't even have your wallet. Or your gun. Or your phone. Hetty's is gonna be so pissed at you. That's a lot of expensive government equipment you have lost my friend," Sam impishly reminded him.

"Speaking of she-who-shall-not-be-named, when do we call the old lady today?" Callen asked.

Sam gave his partner a sideways glance. "Did I just hear you call Hetty an old lady?"

Callen quickly started babbling. "No. Of course not. I said..." Callen struggled to find a word that sounded like old. He ran the rhyming words quickly through his head, searching for a winner. Sold, mold, hold, gold, cold, fold, mold, bold; there it was. "I said bold lady. BOLD. Gotta admit it suits her well."

Sam heartily laughed something he had not done in days. "I admit it suits her perfectly. You were lucky to pull that out of your ass."

Callen wisely kept quiet; he hated the residual effects of morphine, it always screwed with his mind.

"Anyways," Sam said, "At 0900 we'll call Ops again. I estimate we still have at least another day to day and a half of walking.

"That long." Callen unintentionally blurted out. He recovered rapidly with, "That's a long time to be stuck with no one to talk to but you."

"Want me to go find a nice jihadist? I am sure that would be an interesting discussion," Sam countered and Callen kept quiet for once.

At the anointed time the call was made, info swapped and the call ended. After disconnecting, Sam stowed the satphone and waved at Callen. "Let's head out."

Callen had refused to talk to anyone in Ops on the phone. Sam concluded that the injured man feared his voice would reveal how bad off he was and the last thing Callen ever wanted was anyone's pity. Sam watched as Callen pushed his flagging body off the ground and after a few false starts, moved in his direction. Sam debated about using the last morphine shot to put Callen's pain at bay, but Sam stuck with his original plan to employ it at the point when they were desperate. As long as Callen was able to walk, they weren't at that point yet.


	9. Chapter 9

No one could have predicted what happened that afternoon. They were in the flatlands of the coastal plain and the signs of civilization were becoming more evident. They had carefully skirted some farms and Sam had already decided he was going to steal a vehicle at the first opportunity and run the risk of getting caught; it was necessary. Callen was dragging so badly that Sam had been stopping every few miles to let the man rest. Their forward progress was being greatly decreased and if they didn't find a way to get to the rendezvous point quicker, Sam didn't know if Callen would make it.

Sam had left a weak, yet protesting Callen, in the woods as he went to investigate the latest farm. As luck would have it, this area was so poor all the farming was done the old fashion way, with only animals. While he and Callen could both ride and in the past had done so on both horses and camels, his partner was currently in no shape to attempt it. Sam ruled out stealing a cart; that would be too slow and they would surely be caught. So he left to check out the latest farm but when he found no mechanized vehicle, Sam crept back to where he'd left Callen, roused him and they started walking again.

The next farm they came too was a mirror of the first with no useful means of transportation. Callen dragged himself off the ground when Sam returned empty-handed again and they headed out.

The third farm showed promise. From where Sam insisted Callen wait while he did recon, Callen was able to see an old car and he prayed it was operational. His prayer suddenly changed when he heard an explosion and he shifted his gaze in time to see Sam fly through the air. 'Let him be alive', Callen prayed as he pushed off the ground and sprinted as fast as he could to where his downed partner lay on the grass.

In a war ravaged country like this, it was not uncommon for unexploded ordinances to be left behind for decades. Usually it was some poor unsuspecting animal that triggered it or worse, an innocent child or peaceful farmer; this time it had been Sam. Had it been newer, Sam would have been dead; older shells tended to be a bit less lethal if you were lucky.

Callen stopped when he reached Sam's location and let his eyes roam over his partner's body to ascertain the damage. It looked like Sam's left leg took the brunt of the damage. His jeans were torn and bloody and Callen could see small pieces of shrapnel poking out of Sam's flesh.

To be safe, Callen took off his belt, astounded that he still had one on and used it as a tourniquet on Sam's leg. Sam, who was conscious, quietly watched Callen's administrations.

"Just to be safe," Callen told Sam as he tightened the belt. "Until we can get a better idea of the damage." Sam nodded in concurrence. "Can you walk? Because I think it would be a good idea for us to relocate before someone comes to see what the big boom was about."

"I can't get far," Sam said as he made his first attempt to rise.

Callen scanned the area seeing a herd of peacefully grazing sheep. "You don't have too. Just back into the woods."

Sam groaned as he sat up and worked on standing. Callen moved to his side and offered support with his one good arm. "How is going 500 hundred feet away going to help?" Sam grunted as he leaned heavily on Callen as they limped across the grass.

"Trust me," Callen replied thru gritted teeth as he fought to keep Sam upright in his own weakened state.

When they were safely in the woods, hopefully out of sight of prying eyes, Callen propped Sam up against a tree. "Wait here a second." The smaller man disappeared into the woods and retuned a few moments later, awkwardly carrying the backpack in front of him; he couldn't sling it over either shoulder because of the whip slashes on his back. He dropped it on the ground, dug out the thermal blanket and spread it out. Moving back over to Sam, he helped the man lower himself onto it. By the time they were finished, Callen was drenched in sweat and fighting to hold back the black dots circling in his eyes. He slowly made his way over to the pack and took out the knife. "I'll be right back," he told Sam.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked eyeing the knife in his partner's hand.

"Hopefully buy us a get out of jail card free," Callen replied before disappearing.

As Callen left the wooded area, he scanned the meadow and saw it was still deserted except for the grazing sheep. Steeling his nerves for what he knew was a necessity; he made his way slowly over to where scruffy bundles of fur stood munching grass. They were tame and didn't seem to mind as he wandered through them. He had just about made his selection, an older sheep he thought though he was no expert on livestock, when his eyes spotted another sheep that appeared to be lying down. After giving the sheep he'd been about to slay a pat on the back, he moved closer to the unmoving animal and it became painfully obvious the ewe was deceased.

He dragged the carcass over to where the shell had exploded and placed her in what he hoped was a strategic position. This would have to do as he didn't have the heart or the strength to hack the dead animal up to make it seem more convincing that she had been the one that triggered the bomb. By the time he was finished, he noticed a new red stain growing on his own shirt; all the recent activities had caused his cauterized bullet wound to break open again.

When life gives you lemons you make lemonade and that was the philosophy Callen embraced as he wiped his own blood on the dead sheep. He stood up and decided it added perhaps just enough realism to squeak by; he was hoping these were simple farmers and not forensic experts.

Drained, he slowly returned to where he'd left Sam. When Sam saw him return with the knife in blood-stained hands he gasped. "What did you do?"

Callen attempted to slowly squat by Sam then gave up and plopped on the ground. "Don't worry. No animals were harmed in the filming of this adventure. Let me take a look at that leg."

With none to study hands, Callen used the knife to slice open Sam's pants and reveal the leg. It had 2nd degree burns and pieces of metal buried long its entire length. Fortunately, none of the wounds seemed that deep as to have punctured any major arteries. Still, Callen knew it must hurt like hell and the chance of infection, given the situation they were in was 100%. Callen took off his tourniquet belt and dropped it beside Sam. The bleeding didn't increase which was relief; the femoral artery had not been damaged.

"What's left in that medical kit?" Callen asked as he struggled to his feet and attempted to walk back to where he had left the backpack on the grass. He only took two steps before he pitched forward, crumbling to the ground.

"G!" Sam howled as he saw his partner go down. He squirmed, attempting to get in a position where he could crawl over there if he had to, when he saw Callen start to stir.

"I'm good," Callen mumbled as he forced his body onto his hands and knees. "Tripped," he said as he crawled on all fours over to the pack.

Flipping on his butt, Callen pulled the pack close and started rooting in it. Taking inventory he found and pulled out a handful of what he considered useful items to help Sam: alcohol pads, one syringe each of morphine, Maxolon and surprisingly antibiotics, a one-handed tourniquet, scissors, bandages, dressings, adhesive tape and clotting agents. The last item surprised Callen. At first he couldn't figure out why Sam didn't use it back in the cave until he flipped the package over; it had been damaged and was useless. Gathering up the supplies in his arms along with a canteen of water, he waddled on his knees back over to Sam; he didn't trust himself to stand.

Dropping the supplies on the edge of the mat, he looked down at his partner's calm, trusting, brown eyes. "You ready for this?"

"I'm more concerned if you are. The thought of you passing out halfway thru this and flopping on my leg is not appealing," Sam said half-joking and half-serious.

Callen wasn't too confident of his own abilities but he wouldn't let that reflect on his face. A lot of what he needed to do involved two hands, so Callen was forced to keep moving his left arm which aggravated the newly opened bullet wound. He could feel the blood dripping down his chest and he hoped it wasn't too obvious since his shirt was already stained.

Reaching his good hand behind his back, he pulled a thick stick out of his pocket and offered it to Sam. "You might want this."

"Why? You planning to cauterize something? Because from where I lie, everything looks like it has already stopped bleeding. Except, that is, for your shoulder which you have obviously torn open again."

Callen winced but didn't confirm Sam's suspicion. "When I pour this bottle of disinfectant on those wounds, it is gonna hurt like hell. You might want that stick so you don't let out an unmanly scream."

"Maybe you could daintily dab at them with the sterile alcohol pads instead," Sam suggested helpfully.

"Would take too much time. Besides I need to save them to swab your ass before I injected as many needles as possible there," Callen retorted before turning serious; the time for joking was over. "You ready?" he asked holding up the bottle.

"Go for it," Sam told him as he adverted his eyes to stare up at the sky.

Callen nervously swiped his tongue over his top lip, before biting down on his lower one and starting to pour. He doused each wound thoroughly before moving on to the next. When he was done, he awkwardly wrapped the entire leg in gauze, afraid he was going to run out of bandages before the job was complete; Sam had long, muscular legs.

The big guy sat up and tried to aid as much as possible to save Callen's injured shoulder but he was more a hindrance than a help. Callen pointedly put his hand on Sam's chest and gently, but insistently pushed him flat on the blanket. Closing his eyes, Sam laid still and let Callen finish his wrapping.

It slipped Callen's mind that he was supposed to give Sam the shots, so when he was done wrapping, he crawled a few feet away and passed out on the ground. Sam saw him go down and tried to crawl over but his exertions drove him into the same state as his partner. There, in the gathering darkness, on the floor of the forest, the two men lay unconscious in a strangers in a strange land.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam was still out when Callen regained consciousness. The moon was still full so he was able to navigate to his partner's side and lay two fingers against his thick neck. Satisfied with what he felt, Callen sat back on his heels to contemplate the next move.

He wasn't a stupid man and he knew neither of them was in any condition to walk to the rendezvous point on the coast. Securing a vehicle was their only hope and there was one nearby on the farm. Callen had no idea whether it was working but sitting here was not going to answer the question so he lurched to his feet and started to gather what he needed. After securing a flashlight and an extra cartridge from the magic pack, he went over to Sam, rolled him slightly on his side and took his Sig. He thought the big guy was out cold, so he was startled when his wrist was trapped by Sam's large hand.

"Sam! It's me! Let go," Callen commanded. The big guy loosened his grip and Callen pulled his hand free, massaging his wrist which was barely healed from the manacles of four days ago.

The big brown eyes opened and he sought out Callen's in the darkness. "What are you doing?"

Callen checked Sam's gun then stuck it in the back of his jeans. "Going after the car."

Sam knew they needed that car more than ever but he was concerned in Callen's current condition, if he would be successful. Sam started to open his mouth but Callen cut him off. "Don't say it Sam...please. It's our only chance."

Swallowing his words, Sam simply shook his head affirmatively. Callen was aware of his current physical limitations; he didn't need Sam pointing them out. It was obvious the fever was back as Callen's shirt was soaked in sweat even though the evening was on the cooler side. His eyes and the lines an around them, even in the moonlight, were filled with pain that Callen was desperately repressing.

Callen picked up the backpack and moved it to where Sam could reach it and though he didn't say it, Sam knew it was 'just in case I don't return'. Sam reached out his hand to Callen who hesitated a moment before clasping it. Squeezing it hard, Sam simply said, "My brother." Sam held on for a second more, before releasing his partner's hand.

"I won't let you down," Callen said fiercely to which Sam replied, "You never do."

With a curt nod, Callen disappeared into the darkness and Sam said a little prayer to whichever God watched over Callen, to keep him safe.


	11. Chapter 11

In LA there was always noise; out here it seemed so quiet Callen could hear himself breathing, or maybe it was because he was breathing too loud. The journey from where he had left Sam to his current position wasn't far, but it had pushed him to the edge of of his endurance. This damned infection raging through his body was wiping him out. But never the quitter, Callen pushed onward, moved across the open space between him and the car to hunker down behind it.

Shielding the beam from the flashlight with his hand, he gave the vehicle a once over. He walked around the outside of the car, inspecting each tire; they appeared in good working order. Opening the driver's side door, which groaned in the near silence of the night, he shone the light across the dashboard at the gauges. There seemed to be fuel, if the gas gauge was to be believed. Of course there were no keys dangling from the ignition; that would have been too easy.

Propping the flashlight up on the seat, Callen reached under the steering wheel and forced the plastic panel off the bottom of the steering column to expose the necessary wires to hotwire the car. He quickly identified the bundle that had the battery, ignition and starter wires. It was an older model which made it easier to work on; still at one point Callen saw the black dots swimming across his eyes and he was forced to lay his head on his forearms and try not to pass out. When the dizzy spell passed, he got out his pen knife and striped the necessary wires and sparked them to turn over the engine.

The car came to life and he gunned the engine a few times with his hand on the accelerator to ensure it wouldn't stall. The last thing he needed to do before he could drive off was to break the steering wheel lock; starting was good, steering was better. He slid out of the car and stood, looking around for what he needed. He didn't have time to be fancy about it and when he spotted an abandoned piece of 1 inch metal piping he knew he'd found his tool.

Holding the flashlight in his mouth, Callen slid behind the wheel and threaded the metal pipe through the spokes of the steering wheel. Grasping the left end of the pipe with an overhand grip and the right side with an underhand grip, he gave the pipe a hard push/pull. It took a tremendous outpouring of energy on Callen's part but the wheel broke free and he would now be able to steer the car.

Fighting to remain conscious, Callen unthreaded the pipe, threw it on the floor on the passenger's side, slid behind the wheel and shut the driver's door. Instinctively, he reached for the seatbelt before realizing if he buckled it over his shoulder with the bullet hole in it, he would pass out.

Using the moonlight as his headlights, Callen turned the car around and headed down the dirt road away from the farm. When he could no longer see the buildings in the rearview mirror, he pulled the car to the side of the road in a stand of trees. He guessed he'd driven about a mile from where he'd stolen the car which meant he'd have to walk a mile back to get Sam.

Reaching under the dash and yanking the wires, the car died. Callen leaned his head against the seat to rest for a moment. What he hadn't planned on happening was him passing out, but he did and he toppled over sideways in the front seat. A few crickets chirped and the moon continued its trip across the sky as Callen remained unconscious in the car and Sam anxiously awaited his return in the woods.


	12. Chapter 12

A ray of sunshine fought its way through the dirty windshield and landed on Callen's faceand it was enough to rouse him. He groaned as he slowly pushed himself upright off the hard vinyl seat. His head was pounding, his vision double, his back throbbed in time with his heart beat and his ribs screamed in agony. He stumbled from the car and using the hood for support, dry heaved. This was becoming a morning ritual he wasn't enjoying.

As his senses returned he realized the sun was up; Sam would be out of his mind with worry. Callen stumbled back to the open driver's door and fished out a canteen he had tossed in the front seat. Uncapping it, he drank and it helped revive him a bit. He also poured some of it over his head. It trickled down his neck unpleasantly onto his back. His double vision went away which was a blessing because it had been making his already upset stomach worse. Throwing the empty canteen in the backseat, Callen shut the door and started walking away from the car in the general direction of where he'd left Sam.

It took forty minutes and some back tracking, but Callen finally came to the place where he thought he'd left Sam only to find it was empty. Dropping to his knees in frustration, anger and exhaustion, he bowed his head.

Quietly, a voice called out, "You'd better be praying I don't kill you for being gone all night."

Callen's head shot up and twisted in the direction of the sound. Sam sat, leaning against a tree, 20 feet from where Callen knelt. For once, the lone wolf didn't try to hide his emotions and let his relief and happiness of finding Sam alive, shine on his face. He quickly rose and stumbled over to Sam's side, accepting the outstretched hand and the subsequent hug. Both man ignored the pain the embrace caused; the fact they were still both alive was all that mattered.

After Sam released him, Callen sat down on the ground next to his partner and let his head hang between his knees in an attempt to try to get back in control of his physical and mental state.

"Did you get the car?" Sam asked as he watched his partner in a rare moment of weakness.

"Yeh. Piece of cake. It's stashed about a mile from here," Callen replied closing his eyes.

Sam cocked his head at his partner who reopened his eyes but was still staring at the ground. "If it was so easy what took you so long?"

"I stopped for a bite to eat and a nap on the way back. Figured you wouldn't mind since your were just here sleeping." Callen kept his head lowered.

Sam snorted. "More likely you threw up, passed out and got lost, in no particular order."

Finally, Callen lifted his head. "Please tell me you can walk. I can't carry you," he practically begged with an edge of desperation to his voice. He was mentally losing it; he knew it and Sam knew it.

"Sure, I can walk," Sam said confidently. Callen studied his partner's face for a moment before he remembered he never gave Sam the shots last night; turning he looked for pack. Spotting it near his feet, he reached over, dragged it closer and started rummaging in it. "Roll up your sleeve," he demanded.

"Why," Sam questioned warily.

"God damn it Sam just do what I say!" he shouted, losing control. Callen held up the three syringes for which he had been searching. "You need these. The antibiotic will fight the infection in your leg. The morphine will allow you to walk to the car and the Maxolon will control the nausea," he said in a voice that was a mixture of anger and weariness.

"What about you? I think you need it more than me," Sam gently countered.

Callen gave a small snort, smiled and closed his eyes. "Sam, I am on the verge of passing out, I have a high fever, I can't keep anything in my stomach and I am having trouble breathing. If you injected that morphine in me there is a good chance it will kill me. I need you to be able to get to that car and drive us out of here. I can't do it Sam."

"G," Sam intoned his voice full of anguish.

Callen opened his eyes and stared at his partner. "You are always harping on me about being open. Well I am Sam. I can't do this." Callen swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a few seconds while he steadied his breathing. "Roll up your sleeve."

Sam had finally got what he had always wanted, Callen to be completely and emotionally honest with him; so why did it feel like a hollow victory? "Shouldn't you at least take the last dose of antibiotics G," Sam cajoled as he pushed up his sleeve.

Opening his eyes and moving to kneel next to his partner, Callen handed Sam an alcohol pad to wipe off his arm while he flicked the cap off the first syringe of morphine. "I've had two or maybe it was three, well it really doesn't matter, doses of antibotics so far. You have had none. Another shot isn't gonna knock this infection out of me but maybe it will help you enough to get us home." Reaching over he injected the morphine, followed by the antibiotics.

As he made ready to take the cap off the last syringe of Maxolon, Sam stopped him. "I don't need that G. Morphine doesn't affect me the way it does you."

"Lucky dog," Callen said as he tossed the unused needle back in the bag, sank back on his heels and then slowly crumbled to the ground. With heavy eye lids on the verge of closing he mumbled "Takes about thirty minutes for the drugs to work. Wake me when you're ready to leave," and with that he drifted off.

Sam made good use of the thirty minutes. First he used the DAGR to confirm their location and plot a course to the coast, looking for back roads that avoided populace areas. He memorized the route and estimated they would arrive in less than 8 hours.

Next he placed a call to Ops with the satphone and the arrangements for their pickup were locked down.

"Send a medic on the extraction team," Sam requested of Hetty.

Hetty hesitated before replying. "Things of that nature are better handled back on the ship."

"He may not make it that far," Sam said looking gravely at his friend who lay shivering on the ground, a sure sign his high fever had returned.

"Understood Sam. What about you?" she inquired.

Though she couldn't see Sam's face, she could hear the smile in his voice when he answered, "I'm good."

She highly doubted that. "Indeed. See you and your partner soon." When the call was disconnected she turned to her two techs and clapped her hands. "Get things in motion," she commanded and the two techs set the plans in motion to pick up their two stranded agents.


	13. Chapter 13

Sam let Callen sleep for an hour before he reached down, placed a hand on Callen's right shoulder and gave the man a little shake. "Rise and shine."

With his eyes tightly shut, the prone man grumbled, "Never slept. You were stomping around here like an elephant." Callen slowly cracked an eyelid. "Make that a three-legged elephant." Opening both eyes he saw the crutch Sam had fashioned out of a piece of wood. "A three-legged elephant with a crutch. You've been busy," Callen noted wryly, running a hand through his hair and groaning as he attempted to sit up. It took him several tries but he eventually succeeded. Stretching his stiff limbs only increased his pain so he stopped. "Were you beating me with that thing while I slept?" he asked eyeing the crutch.

Sam chuckled. "Thought you weren't sleeping."

Callen started to work his way up to fully vertical and Sam had to reach out at one point and steady him with a quick hand. Callen grinned ruefully at his partner. "Aren't we a sorry pair."

Letting go of his partner's arm, Sam bent over, picked up a canteen of water and handed it to Callen who took a few sips. "I don't know about you, I am raring to go." He handed Callen one of the remaining protein bars; Callen took it and promptly shoved it in his back pocket.

"You're supposed to eat that, not use it as a pillow to sit on," Sam chided.

"Uh-huh. Later. We gotta move out." Taking a few steps, Callen stumbled before finding his equilibrium. He stopped at the backpack on the floor, picked it up then held it awkwardly in front of him with one hand; because of the cuts on his back he could not sling it over his shoulder. Sam hobbled over, took it from him and slung it on his own back. When Callen saw it was not hurting Sam, he accepted the solution.

"Can you find your way back to where you left the car?" Sam prodded as they started walking or more precisely limping into the woods.

"Of course I can," Callen said indignantly. "I always look for a landmark when I park a car. I left it next to a tree," which made Sam smile since they were surrounded by trees.

"I seem to recall two Christmas' ago you lost the Mercedes in the mall parking lot and had to call Eric to locate it," Sam reminded him as they slowly made their way thru the woods.

Callen held up a hand. "Whoa there buddy. Let's get the story straight. The only reason we were at that mall was to buy your daughter a Christmas present because you forgot to do it earlier."

"I didn't forget," Sam objected. "I was busy."

Callen shook his head. "Not buying that. Because you forgot, I had to go to the mall on Christmas Eve along with three-quarters of the population of LA."

"There are good sales at the last minute," Sam informed him as they hobbled along.

"Of course there was no parking because it was Christmas Eve and you," Callen jabbed finger in Sam's direction, "wouldn't let me park where I wanted too."

"That wasn't a parking space!" Sam exclaimed.

Callen shrugged. "The car would have fit. But you made me drive around for 45 minutes trying to find a legal spot. Is it any wonder I couldn't find the damn car later?"

They tottered along a few more minutes before Sam added, "But we got the doll."

"You got the doll. I got pushed, shoved, stepped on, sprayed with perfume and almost arrested," Callen grouched.

"You can't blame that security guard. You really scared him," Sam pointed out.

"Yeh, well he deserved it," Callen said grouchily.

Sam stopped for a moment to catch his breath; his leg did not like all this activity. "How much further?" Callen peered around him appearing confused and Sam grew worried. "Please tell me you're not lost."

"No, no we're good," his partner hastily replied leading Sam to believe they were lost. "It's another five minutes in," Callen paused a heartbeat, "that direction," he pointed as he started walking again.

Good to his word the two did emerge from the woods alongside of the car five minutes later. Sam walked over to the driver's door, opened it and peered inside. "Give me the keys," he told Callen.

"You're joking right?" Callen replied puzzled. "I had to hotwire it."

Sam leaned against the door to take some of the weight off his injured leg. "Huh. I thought you snuck into the house and stole the keys too. I would have."

"Yeh, well I didn't," Callen stated as he walked over to the driver's side of the car. "If you get out of my way, I'll start it for you."

Sam opened his arms wide and moved. "Be my guest."

Callen bent over, reached under the dash, reconnected the correct wires and the engine turned over. Leaning heavily on the seat, Callen pushed himself upright. His triumphant victory smile at Sam would have been better if a wave of dizziness hadn't wash over him causing him to lurch sideways and desperately try to grab the door frame to stop from falling to the ground. Sam moved closer to his partner but there was nothing he could do as Callen clutched the door, eyes closed, battling to stay conscious.

"Lean on me," Sam instructed and when Callen complied, Sam slowly walked with him to the passenger side car. He opened the door and helped Callen get in the car. By habit, he started to reach for the seatbelt then stopped; between Callen's back and shoulder wounds it would be cruel. Casually, he pressed two fingers to Callen's throat to check his pulse and he didn't like what he felt; his partner's health was rapidly deteriorating. Moving out of the way and shutting the door firmly, Sam watched as his partner slow slumped against the closed door. Moving as quickly as he could to the other side, he climbed behind the wheel, found the best position for his injured leg, shut the door and drove off.

They had been on the road for more than two hours when Sam noted his restless, semi-conscious partner was shivering. As the minutes wore by, Callen's tremors grew more violent and Sam's concern increased exponentially.

Pulling the car over to the side of road, Sam fished in the back seat with his long arms for the pack. Dragging it to the front, he took out the thermal blanket and wrapped it as best as he could around the shivering Callen. Sam could tell by touch alone that Callen's temperature was on the rise again. There wasn't much left in their depleted medical kit that would help other than the Motrin so Sam shook the dosage out of the bottle and then cajoled, threatened, pleaded and nearly forced Callen to swallow the pills.

Sam set out again and after a few miles it seemed like the blanket was helping as Callen's shivering grew less. However, delirium set in again and Callen muttered and mumbled incoherent snatches of conversation and words. Unlike the last time back at the stream, Sam couldn't make any sense out of his partner's ramblings.

After a few more hours on the road, Sam pulled over again. He needed to stretch his aching leg. Callen didn't even rouse when the vehicle stopped moving and the only thing Sam did was try to get the dehydrated man to drink some water. After he was done, he checked the DAGR to confirm their location and swore when he realized how much further they still had to go.

For safety and security reasons, the extraction had to take place under the cover of darkness. Sam checked his a watch and then the map again and knew he'd have to call Hetty and tell her to put off the rescue for another day; even driving straight thru the night, the sun would be well up before they reached the rendezvous point on the coast.

Glancing over at his injured partner, the weight of the world descended upon Sam's soul. He knew they had to be extraordinarily cautious not to get caught leaving this country as it could cause an international incident. However, he also had grave doubts how much longer Callen could survive without serious medical attention. Slamming his fist down hard on the car's hood, he swore, his face a mask of anger and sorrow. He knew what he had to do, knew what Callen would tell him to do, but he hated that the fact he might be signing his partner's death certificate.

With great reluctance, he pulled out the satphone and called the Ops Center. "Hetty, we're not going to make it to the pickup spot before sunrise. We need to push out the time table by a day."


	14. Chapter 14

During the final hour of their journey, Callen became very still and quiet, so much so that every few miles Sam found himself reaching over to verify that his partner was still breathing. The fact that Callen didn't bat his hand away or make a sarcastic comment only added to Sam's angst; his partner was completely offline. The only positive thing was with the rising of the sun, Callen's temperature dropped again as was typical of a fever.

They weren't going to be able to drive all the way to rendezvous point which was on a desolate portion of the coast. Sam estimated they'd have to walk at least a mile from where they would have to leave the car. If Sam couldn't arouse Callen from his stupor, they were going to be in trouble; with his leg, Sam wasn't sure he could carry Callen.

A few miles later, Sam pulled the car off to the side of the road and shut down the engine. He could hear the crashing of the waves on the nearby shore; so close and yet so far away in their current depleted condition. Getting out of the car, he grabbed the backpack from the rear seat before making his way over to the passenger side front door. He was surprised when he reached the far side of the car, to see the door open and Callen, albeit hanging heavily on the door, standing.

His disbelief, mixed with a portion of relief, could plainly be heard in his voice. "You up?"

The bleary blue eyes searched to find the speaker, finally coming to rest on Sam's face. After squinting at Sam for a moment, Callen said, "Yeh. Had a nice nap though your driving still sucks."

"I thought we agreed not to talk about each other's driving, Mr. Flip-the-Car-Over," Sam reminded him.

"My bad," he answered with a weary smile. "How far?"

"About a mile." Sam orientated his body towards the sound of the sea. "That way."

The terrain sloped downward to the ocean and was a mixture of rocks, sand and scrub vegetation. The only positive thing Callen could think of as he examined where they had to trek was it appeared all downhill; he wondered if he could slide down on his mind, which was functioning in a highly degraded mode, decided to wander off on a tangent and reminisce about the first time he slid down something on his butt.

_It was a shadowy vague memory that involved being in a playground by the sea. The image of a scary huge silver slide, taller than the tallest building he had ever seen, loomed up in front of him. The slide had a metal staircase that would take years to climb if he had the courage. Taunting chants, rose around him as he stepped up to the bottom of that staircase, only to chicken out and back away before he could take that first step. Out of the corner of his eye came a mystery hand and the words 'you can do it' floated in the air. _

_It was weird; he felt himself inside the body of the small boy in this dream as well as outside, looking down on the scene. He saw/felt his foot rise off the ground to be placed tentatively on the first rung of the ladder. Determined, if somewhat shaking hands, gripped the metal railing made warm by the sun. His other foot joined the first and he felt/saw the journey to the moon begin. _

_It felt like it took eons to reach the pinnacle of the slide and as he crested the ridge, the view almost made him turn around and climb back down. He could see forever; the town, the sea and at this point he somehow knew he was in Romania. Finding the courage, he sat down on the top of the slide, feet pointed down the steep slope that was so long it appeared to drop into an unfathomable abyss where surely some horrible creature lived. _

_Holding his breath, he let go of the hand rails and wiggled forward. Suddenly he was sliding downward, picking up speed like a missile. Clamping his eyes shut, he struggled not to scream as he went faster. Then he was airborne, flying thru the sky before landing in the sand with a thump. He opened his eyes and saw the shadowy shape of a woman and he felt she was smiling down at him. She reached out her hand, helped him up and then gave him a big hug. In his mind he heard her speak the words 'What a brave boy you are my son'. He looked up to gaze at her face and..."_

"G. G." Sam reached out and gently shook his partner who appeared lost in a trance.

Callen slowly blinked his eyes, struggling not to lose his dream. He was sure that was his mother. However, the real world was too persistent and the memory floated away out of reach. "Mama," he said plaintively.

Callen had joked numerous times with Sam about the tall guy 'mothering' him, but Callen had never actually called him 'Mama'. "Hey. Did you hit your head again and forget to tell me?"

Turning dream-filled eyes on Sam, Callen slowly said with a touch of awe, "She was there. She caught me. She told me I was brave."

"Ah huh," Sam replied not really sure how to respond. "But I really need you to snap back to reality buddy."

Giving his head a little shake, Callen blinked his eyes and said, "What?"

Sam put his hand on Callen's good shoulder and stared directly into his partner's blue eyes. "G. I need you to focus. Hold it together for a while longer before going off the reservation."

The last of the cobwebs cleared from Callen's mind and he shrugged off Sam's hand as he took a step away. "I'm good."

Sam laughed. "Again with the good. I seriously doubt you are bueno."

Callen made a sour face and turned away to survey the rough terrain they had to traverse. "Don't suppose there's a path?"

"In your dreams, wait don't go there. I need you here and focused. I'm not carrying you to the meeting point," Sam picked up the backpack from the ground and hefted it over his shoulder. "Let's go. Wait, you go first. I don't want you falling down and rolling into me."

"I'm not going to fall," Callen groused. "You're more likely to trip with that bum leg." However, his comment fell a bit flat when as he started down towards the water, his feet slid out from under him and he fell on his backside.

Sam tried to keep a straight face as he moved down the slope to where Callen had fallen and helped him get on his feet. "i think you slipped," Sam offered helpfully.

Callen couldn't stop from smiling ruefully. "Yeh, rub some more dirt in an already infected wound."

Sam smile slipped away. It irked him when his friend made light of his injuries. However, Callen didn't see Sam's expression darken because he had already turned away to make his way downward again.

It took the agents quite a while to reach the small sandy beach at the ocean's edge and by the time they got there they were both incredibly tired. Both men had slipped and slid their way down to the water which aggravated their respective injuries.

As they stood on the beach, Sam checked his watch. They still had 8 hours before the pickup time. Callen glanced over at Sam and inquired how long. "Eight hours." Callen acknowledge the answer with curt nod as he rubbed his grimy hand on the back of his neck. He started scouting around for a sheltered area where they could wait that was protected from the wind and any prying eyes, though it was very secluded here. Spotting a semicircular formation of rocks about waist high, open to the sea, Callen moved in that direction and Sam followed. When he reached the make-shift alcove, Callen lowered himself gingerly to the ground and Sam dropped the backpack and followed suit.

Callen studied his partner and saw the exhaustion and discomfort in the man's face. "Take a nap, Sam. I'll keep an eye out in case we get any unwanted visitors."

"I think it makes more sense for you to sleep and I'll keep watch," Sam countered.

"Look," Callen rationalized. "I slept in the car on the way here. When's the last time you slept?" Sam had to give his partner that point. "Besides, you know as the day wears on my fever will spike again. A couple of hours from now I won't be in any condition to stand or make that sit guard."

Sam couldn't argue with that logic either so he reached behind his back, drew the gun which he had taken from Callen in the car and handed it back to him. He also rummaged in the pack, withdrew a half-full canteen and the Motrin. "Drink this," he said handing the water to Callen, "take these," he poured the pills into Callen's hand, "and eat that protein bar you shoved in your pocket last night and have been sitting on all day. Then I'll take a nap."

Callen rolled his eyes. "Really?" The expression on Sam's face brooked no argument so Callen uncorked the water, threw the pills in his mouth and washed them down. "Happy? Ready for your nap?"

"You forgot something," he said pointedly looking at Callen's back pocket.

Swearing under his breath Callen dug out the still wrapped and definitely mushed protein bar. Using his teeth, he tore off the wrapper and peered rather grimly the mangled food. He took a quick glance over at Sam and saw he wasn't going to get a reprieve so he reluctantly bit off a piece, chewed, swallowed and washed it down with another swig of water.

"Keep going," Sam instructed as he settled back against the rock and folded his hands on his stomach. "I'll be awake in 3 hours," he told Callen as he closed his eyes and let his exhaustion overwhelm his body. Callen waited until he was sure Sam was asleep before tossing the half-eaten bar away; his stomach was already threatening to remove the two bites he had swallowed.

The next few hours passed slowly for Callen who couldn't find a comfortable position. When he got frustrated trying to sit without hurting his back or shoulder, he would stand up and walk for a bit. But he had no stamina, so he'd sit on a rock and when that too grew hard and uncomfortable, he'd flop back on the sand to restart the cycle. As the afternoon wore on, Callen could feel his temperature rising and he found himself drifting off into a stupor. After he fell asleep for the third time, he knew he had to do something to stay awake. He considered taking a dip in the freezing cold ocean, figuring the salt water would sting all the open welts on his back and that, along with the cold, would keep him awake. Just as he was about to get up and implement the stupid idea, the small part of his rationale brain that was still operating kicked in and stopped him. Instead, he forced himself to lean back against the rocks and use the pain it caused to stay awake. Not a brilliant plan but it was better than his other one.

In spite of everything, Callen started to drift in and out of conscious more often as his fever climbed higher. When Sam woke three hours later like he said he would, Callen had toppled over sideways in the sand and was delirious. Sam tried to rouse his partner with no success; Callen would open his eyes, but there was no comprehension.

As Callen's temperature climbed higher, he became more restless and his mutterings became more erratic. Like back at the stream, his mind seemed to slip into the bad memories from his past.

_His fourteenth year had been a rough one. By this time he was an experienced foster child and knew all the tricks and traps. This particular placement was a mediocre one at best; they didn't try to beat him, or redeem him, or set him straight. Instead they basically ignored him which was fine with Callen. _

_He had become fairly adapt at surviving on the streets, able to find food and shelter when required. School wasn't that hard to navigate either; when he did show up he could easily do the work which infuriated those teachers who kept trying to tell him he was wasting his potential and made the rest of the teachers who already had too many kids in their classroom happy. When his attendance got too spotty, the school would notify his foster parents who would give him 'the lecture' but nothing more; it worked for all of them. _

_The only complication in this house was Kira, a brown-haired, green-eyed, ten-year-old foster child also placed at this house. She hero-worshiped Callen even though he used everything he could think of to discourage her. However, she was like a gangly puppy-dog that trailed along behind him no matter what he did. He didn't plan to let it happen, but somehow she crept past his defenses into his heart and the street-tough, fourteen-year-old found himself entrapped by her infectious soul. _

_The school Kira went to was considered to be within walking distance of the house they lived in and often Callen would meet her and walk her home, listening to her chat about the things that were the end of the world to a ten-year-old. Other days he would show up later, when she was doing her homework and assist. Callen would procure little treats for her and he loved to watch her face light up even for the smallest item such as a tootsie pop; she had a huge affinity for them and got him hooked too._

_Callen had started hanging out with a street gang though he was very careful, at least he thought, to keep his gang life separate from his foster life. Callen had run with gangs before during his short life, but this one was a lot more dangerous in their ideas and actions. Because he appeared to have no fear and was willing to attempt almost anything, he was welcomed with open arms. However, the more he got involved with this gang, the less he liked it; he drew the line at violence against innocent people. He was also starting to get uneasy about stealing and other things they did to small shopkeepers who were trying to eke out a merger living of their own._

_Callen realized his moral compass was shifting and he decided gang's life wasn't for him. But getting out of a gang was not as easy was getting in, especially when they liked you for your talents. Even at this age, Callen could assume any identity and his chameleon skills were put to good use by the group. As he tried to get out, the leaders of the gang did everything to keep him hooked. _

_Callen was strolling down the street when a car full of people from the gang pulled up. They told him they had some business to take care of and needed his assistance. Callen had gotten in the car and they had headed into a seedy section of town with rundown stores. They pulled up in front of a little corner grocery store and told Callen to go inside, case the place and report back on how easy it would be to rob. Callen had done this type of work numerous times for the gang so he didn't think a thing about it. _

_Going inside, he flashed a smile at the old woman behind the counter and engaged her in conversation about the weather before he asked where the cough drops were, honey flavored, since those were the only ones his grandma liked. His disarming smile made him look like a choir boy while he was looking for cameras, the type of cash register, where the cigarettes were and other useful facts that would help the gang rob the place. _

_He completed his shtick, tacked on his smile and the woman came out from behind the counter to show him to the correct shelf. The door had opened as he and the older woman started down the aisle and Callen had been surprised to see the gang members enter. The leader had whipped out a gun and strode arrogantly up to the shopkeeper._

_Callen had moved back a step and looked at their gang leader askance when he pressed the gun to the woman's head and demanded the location of Raul. The old woman had been terrified and the gang leader had yelled louder, demanding Raul's location. The leader had withdrawn the gun from the woman's head for a moment to shoot a shelf of soda bottles before pressing the warm muzzle back against her temple. _

_The crashing of the glass bottles and the gunshot brought a twenty-some year old male running from the back storeroom. The moment he showed his face, the leader had re-aimed the gun and shot him dead. Callen flinched as the bullet tore through the young man's head leaving a gaping hole. _

_The old woman had screamed when the gun went off and when the shot man fell to the floor she ran over to him, dropped on her knees and started moaning. Callen had recoiled in shock before looking at their leader who was laughing and making racial slurs about dogs that wandered into the wrong territory. Everyone in the gang was laughing but Callen.  
_

_The leader had grabbed Callen by the arm and dragged him to where the woman knelt sobbing, pressed the gun into his hand and told him to shot her because she was a witness. Callen had refused and the leader had insisted. Callen had flung the gun away and bolted from the shop. The words that followed behind him were 'this isn't over yet'. Before he had a chance to even think what that meant he heard the gun go off and he ran even faster, knowing the woman was dead._

_He had found out a few days later what that threat had meant. Apparently, he hadn't done as great a job as he thought keeping his foster-life and gang-life separate because when he was walking Kira home from school the next week, a car full of the gang members had pulled up next to them, shot Kira and drove off laughing. Callen had held her dying body in his arms as he gazed down on her angelic face. A crowd had gathered round them and soon the police showed up. By the time the ambulance arrived she had passed. _

_The police questioned him and the bystanders on what had occurred and the only thing they learned was a car full of gang members had pulled up, shot the girl and drove off. The description of the car varied based on which so-called witness the police questioned. Callen could have given them the exact make, model and color, but he didn't nor did he tell them who did it. His story jibed with the rest of the witnesses, so the police eventually stopped questioning him._

_The foster system was notified but by the time they came to get Callen, he was already gone. A few weeks later, the papers reported a mass gang shootout when two rival gangs had clashed leaving most of their members dead. What the paper didn't report, because there only one person alive who knew, is how the two gangs happened to meet up. Seems one gang was provided with the location of the rival gang's headquarters. The fourteen-year-old boy who orchestrated the event didn't stay to watch the aftermath of his actions; revenge had been extracted though what he did would haunt him over the years. In the deepest, darkest hours of the night, he would always question if tipping off the other gang had been right; probably not, but then again neither was killing Kira._

Lost in the past, Callen started thrashing and screaming 'Kira'. Not knowing what else to do, Sam gathered Callen up in his arms like he had in the river to try to calm him down and stop him from injuring his battered body anymore. Tears streamed down his partner's face as he sobbed and kept repeating 'Kira.'

Eventually Callen dropped to a deeper level of unconsciousness and grew still, so Sam released his partner and arranged him carefully on the sand. A quick check of his watch told him it was time for hopefully, the last call of this trip. Digging out the satphone he wearily dialed Ops and established the mission was a go. When all the details were confirmed, Sam disengaged, stowed the phone and moved to a location where he could watch the darkened sea. If all went as planned, they would be heading for home in less than an hour.

_Author's Note: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. It's so much fun to open my email and read them; much better than a notice that the electric bill is due. Thought I'd let you know there are three more chapters to go until the conclusion. I think one of the conditions of this challenge was to produce a minimum of 3000 words. I think I succeeded. Lol._


	15. Chapter 15

When the raft landed on the shore, Sam was there to meet it. He and three of the four-man team that climbed out of the vessel, headed back to where Callen unmoving lay on the sand in the alcove. One member of the rescue team striped off his gloves and headgear and pulled out a small medical kit. "Injuries," he demanded of Sam.

"Whip lashes covering the entire back, infected. Bullet wound, thru and thru, left shoulder. Possible broken ribs. Possible concussion. Dehydration. High fever," Sam recited clinically.

The rescue medic pulled out a stethoscope. "Mental status."

"Delirious," Sam replied.

The medic gave a quick nodded of his head then listened to Callen chest. "Fluid in the lungs. No allergies?"

"None though pain medications makes him very nausea. And he hates shots," Sam answered with a slight smile.

"Well," the medic said straightening up and digging in his bag. "He isn't in much shape to voice an objection. Any medications?"

Sam paused, not sure what the medic meant. "He doesn't take anything. In the last four days, I have administered two shots of morphine, Maxalon, antibiotics and a bunch of Motrin. He also hasn't kept anything down in days."

The medic uncapped three syringes and rapidly injected them into the patient. Nodding to the two waiting men, he instructed them to take Callen to the raft before turning to face Sam. "Your injuries?"

"Burns and shrapnel. Left leg," Sam reported succinctly.

"You can make it to the ship?" the medic asked donning his headgear and gloves.

"Not a problem," Sam said as the two men headed back to the raft. Callen was already loaded in it; he was so still. A cold shiver ran up Sam's spine and his concern showed on his face.

The medic noted it and sought to reassure him. "Hetty sent me his medical file and yours. I'm not going to lie to you, he's not good, but judging from what I read, he's tough and that counts for a lot."

One of the rescue team helped Sam over the edge of the craft and when they were all settled, they headed out into the pitch black night. Callen started to stir at one point during the long journey but Sam's hand on his shoulder seemed to calm him.

It took a long time to get to their destination, and when they did, there was a flurry of activity as they were brought onboard and Callen was quickly whisked off into the bowels of the ship. Sam thanked the members of the rescue team before he too was taken to sickbay. Once there, he was instructed to lie on a bed though he desperately glanced around trying to see callen.

"Your partner?" the med tech asked seeing Sam scanning the room. Sam nodded affirmatively. "Over there," he pointed. "He's in good hands. Don't worry. You need to focus on yourself for a moment."

Sam answered all the questions put forth to him by a second medic that had joined the first. While he was providing the vital requested information, the first medic started an IV line and hung a bag of solution. Sam felt a presence behind him and the two medics snapped to attention with a 'Sir'.

The Captain waved them off and walked around the exam table until Sam could see his face. Sam, being ex-Navy, could easily read the insignia and he knew this was the head honcho of this vessel. "Sir," he said respectively from his prone position.

"Agent Hanna, I presume?" he inquired though he knew perfectly well who they'd just rescued.

"Yes Sir," Sam answered smartly.

"And Agent Callen?" he asked glancing around.

"Over there Captain," the med tech pointed across the infirmary.

The Captain gave a curt nodded. "Good. Now that I have laid eyes on you both I can go back and reassure that little ninja you are both alive. She was quite insistent I come check on you personally and frankly I had the feeling if I didn't Ms. Lange would soon being landing on my deck to check on you two herself.

Sam smiled as he thought back to the Christmas Eve Hetty did fly in to get Sam home to his family in time for Christmas. "She might just do that Sir."

The Captain laughed. "Yes, I am quite aware of the legend that is Henrietta Lange. Let me get back to the bridge before that she-devil orders my crew to come find me. If you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know."

The Captain pulled the medic to the side out of Sam's earshot and asked for a frank assessment. Then he moved over to the doctor tending Callen and did the same. He frowned slightly at that report then gave the doctor a light clap on the back before heading back to the bridge to report out to Hetty.

The med tech injected something into Sam's IV. "Ok, time for a nap," he said and that was the last thing Sam remembered before he drifted off.


	16. Chapter 16

Sam had no clue how long he was out. When he woke, he discovered he was clean, his leg was dressed and he was feeling no pain. His eyes searched his surroundings and he discovered he'd been moved to a more private alcove within the infirmary. Based on the medical paraphernalia hanging off his body, he must have been kept unconscious for a few days. His thoughts immediately went to Callen and he searched with his eyes for someone to ask.

"Ah, you are awake," the medic said walking over to Sam's bunk. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I had a long winters nap," Sam joked before turning serious. "How's my partner?" He could tell by the look on the medic's face he was not going to like the answer.

The doctor grew serious. "Your partner is borderline critical, but stable condition. We have him sedated and incubated to give his lungs a break. We are having a little trouble adjusting his medications." The man hesitated for a moment seeming tense. "Last night he broke through his sedation medications and regained consciousness."

"I'll bet that wasn't a pretty sight," Sam said knowingly. "Callen doesn't do sick well."

The medic seemed relieved by what Sam told him. "You're right. It wasn't pretty. He was only conscious, not even fully conscious, for maybe a minute before we got to him. But in that space of time, he ripped his IVs out and was halfway out of the bed."

Sam slid up a little higher in his hospital bed. "When can I go see him?"

Rubbing his thumb and his forefinger across his chin, the medic contemplated the request. "You just woke up so let's give your body a few hours to recover. Eat a good lunch and then in the afternoon we'll get you up."

Sam thought the doctor's recommendation was fair so he nodded in agreement. "When are you planning to take the breathing tube out of Callen?"

Heaving a sigh, the medic's face grew unhappy again. "This afternoon, though with all the troubles we are having finding the right dosage of meds to use on him, well I am afraid he is not going to react well again. The objective is to bring the patient slowly back to full consciousness. Your partner seems to go from 0 to 60 in 2.2 seconds."

"Let me be there," Sam requested earnestly. "I can keep him calm."

The doctor nodded his head slowly in agreement. "Alright. I'll try anything not to have a repeat performance of last night. My med tech, who was trying to restrain him, ended up with a black-eye. Your partner has a mean punch."

"Yeah, he's scrappy for his size," Sam said drolly and the other man laughed.

Later that day, Sam was standing on the far side of Callen's hospital bed as the team got ready to remove the breathing tube and lessen his sedation. The removal of the tube went fine and Callen's lungs continued inflating on their own well. The medical team was pleased with the results. They also reduced the amount of sedation he was receiving and they could start to see signs of his body reviving itself.

Things seem to be progressing along nice and slowly when suddenly Callen's eyes opened and he started to thrash. Immediately, Sam placed his hand on Callen's good shoulder and started talking to him. "It's Ok G. I'm here. You're in a hospital. You need to relax."

Callen's eyes sought out the speaker and the minute he locked eyes on Sam, his body visibly relaxed. The medic team, who had been unconsciously holding their breath, sighed in relief. Callen's blood pressure which had spiked upon his awakening, dropped back to an acceptable level.

Callen felt like crap. His body hurt, his throat was sore and he didn't know who these people around him were, except for Sam. Slowly as Callen was able to focus more, it dawned on him while he didn't know where in the world he was, he did know where he was...a medical facility. His body started to automatically panic again.

Sam, who was watching his partner closely, saw exactly when Callen realized where he was and he quickly stepped in again to stop his partner from going into a full scale meltdown. "Don't go there G. Stay with me. I'm here for you."

Sam knew Callen hated hospital with a passion, though he had not successfully gotten the reason why from his tight-lipped partner as of yet; but he was working on it. For now, he tried to keep Callen focused on him so the man wouldn't do anything that would cause the doctor to heavily sedate him again. Callen hated being sedated as much, if not more, than being in a hospital; Sam thought it all stemmed back to a control issue.

Callen started to try to sit up and a look over at the medical team told Sam they didn't want their patient to try to do that yet. Sam didn't want to physically restrain Callen since he knew it might make his partner struggle more; instead he used his voice. "Don't try to sit up. Not yet."

"Sam," Callen pleaded in a voice rough from disuse. He gave every indication he wasn't going to listen as he continued to move.

Sam saw one of the med techs preparing a syringe to inject into Callen's IV line. Quickly catching the supervising Doctor's eye he said, "Give me a minute. Please." The doctor waved off the tech for the moment as Sam turned his attention back to his partner. "G, listen to me. If you don't knock it off and lay there quietly, they are going to sedate you again. I know you don't want that." Sam hated to see the fear and distress that crossed Callen's eyes at the thought of being knocked out, but he hoped by telling Callen the truth the agent would stop trying to move.

Slowly, Callen's body relaxed and he lay there calmly, though it was still very clear he didn't trust the people around him, except for Sam. The team needed to perform some more tests and they looked to the doctor for guidance. Sam saw their hesitation and he said to the doctor, "Explain what you are doing and he'll be alright." Catching Callen's eye he added, "Or I'll have Hetty come and keep him in line."

A flare of panic lit Callen's eyes. "She's here?" he managed to rasp out.

Sam gave a little smile without answering.

Later that day, the Doctor pulled him aside out of Callen's earshot and told Sam that their patient was being cooperative. Sam couldn't help laughing which puzzled the doctor. "Trust me Doc. It won't last."

Sure enough, less than 48 hours later when Sam was in the rec room playing cards and swapping stories with the SEAL team stationed onboard, one of the med techs came looking for him. "Sir, we have a little problem and the Doctor thought that you might be able to, ah, help with it."

"It's Sam. And what did my partner do now?" he asked, sighing. The SEALs sitting around Sam appeared amused by their comrade's behavior.

"He disappeared," the man said a bit embarrassed. "We have never had this happen before with any of our patients."

Sam got up from the chair he'd been sitting in and snagged the cane the Doctor had insisted he use for a few days. "Yeh, but I'll bet you never treated any of Houdini's relatives."

The med tech was taken back. "He's related to Houdini the magician?"

"He might as well be," Sam answered. "I have seen him disappear from places you wouldn't believe. Comes in handy as a NCIS agent. Any planes missing?"

The med tech looked startled and the SEALs stared at Sam to see if he was serious. "Are you saying your partner could steal a plane off a highly secure, state-of-the-art, United States of America aircraft carrier?" one of the SEALs asked incredulously.

"Not steal. Borrow. And yeh, he could do it." It was clear they didn't believe Sam which was fine with him. Callen was unbelievable most of the time which is what made him a great agent.

"Do you need our assistance Sam?" one of the other seated SEALs inquired.

Sam hesitated for a moment as he thought back to the last time he and Callen and been on an aircraft carrier. Callen had taken to sneaking up on the flight deck, much to the deck Chief's chagrin and sitting in an out of the way corner. Callen told him that being below deck for long periods of time made him feel the need for fresh air and isolation. This was a different carrier, but built the same. "No thanks. I have an idea where he is located."

"This is a big ship," the medic reminded him.

"Yeh. But my partner is as predictable as he is unpredictable." Sam walked away as everyone stared after him.

"How does a SEAL stand to work with a partner like that?" one of them wondered aloud. They all shook their heads and went back to their card game.


	17. Chapter 17

Sam's leg was aching and he was annoyed by the time he reached the flight deck where he then proceeded to have a ten minute discussion-arguement with the deck Chief. The Chief was sure no one could have gotten up on deck without his crew knowing and wasn't about to let Sam go up and check. The Chief explained to Sam like he was a two-year-old, that a swipe card was required to access the deck and people rescued from places that can't be mentioned were not issued access cards. Sam suggested equally patiently that someone onboard who used to have an access card was now missing it, because his partner had lifted it.

It took a call up the chain to the Captain before Sam was finally allowed on deck. A sailor was assigned to escort him to ensure his safety and Sam, who was tired of arguing, let the man trail behind him. It didn't take Sam long to find Callen who was exactly where Sam predicted.

The agent lifted his head and watched Sam approach. "Who's your friend?" he jerked his chin towards the sailor who was amazed to find Callen sitting on the deck.

Sam turned to the ensign and said, "Thanks for the escort seaman. I can take it from here. He and I are gonna sit here for a few minutes and enjoy the view," Sam told him as if they were on the deck of a cruise ship and not a 102 ton aircraft carrier. The ensign was about to object when Sam added, "We could go back and discuss this with the Captain if you want but I think he might be a bit pissed having his lunch interrupted for a second time." The ensign turned a little green at that remark since he'd been standing there the first time when the Captain had been disturbed.

"It's lunch time?" Callen piped up. "Did you bring me takeout?"

"I'm going to take you out and throw you overboard." The sailor who'd been turning to walk away stopped and Sam hastily added, "Just kidding." He lowered his body onto the deck next to Callen, leaning against the metal structure behind them. "The walls close in?"

"Something like that," Callen agreed his eyes fixed on the horizon.

Sam let his gaze trail out to the sea too. "Whose card did you lift, to get out here?"

Callen gave a little shrug. "Don't know. Some pilot I bumped into."

Callen was dressed in a navy's pilot jumpsuit not a hospital gown. "You took his clothes too?" That was a bit cheeky Sam thought.

Callen ran his hand absentmindedly down his pants leg. "Don't worry, there is no naked pilot tied up in a closet somewhere onboard if that is what you are thinking. I found the laundry on my way here. Procured clothes from there."

"Stole," Sam corrected. "You left them in quite tizzy down in the medical center. They're not use to your disappearing acts. They kind of want you to come back."

Callen vehemently shook his head. "No way. I'm fine."

"You are never fine," Sam laughed. "I had to call the Captain of this huge ship to get permission to come up here to retrieve you and bring you back to the infirmary." A muscle in Callen's jaw uncontrollably twitched. "But of course we both know that isn't happening."

Callen started rubbing his thumb against his forefinger, a habit he had when he was agitated or thinking. "I can't go back there Sam. They keep sedating me."

"It's for your own good G. Your body needs to rest, recover. You came close to buying the farm back there." Sam's tried to keep his voice even but Callen detected the worried undertones.

"When I can't wake up, I can't escape..." the shorter man swallowed hard, "the nightmares."

Sam shifted his gaze back to his partner and said "You were beaten, by someone with a hose, when you were eight for getting dirty."

Callen's jaw clenched at Sam knowing that fact. He wondered when he blabbed that aloud. "My foster father. He had a bit of a cleanliness is next to Godliness complex; I was neither. Who else knows?"

Sam shifted his gaze back to the sea again. "Just you, me and the fishes in the river. You were delirious with a high fever." They sat in silence again for a while before Sam bluntly asked, "Who's Kira?"

Biting on his lower lip, Callen tried to convince himself to be honest and trust Sam wouldn't judge him. Trust had been so beaten out of him as a child that even thinking about opening up to someone made Callen feel uneasy and ill.

Sam could see the war going on within Callen and he patiently waited; either Callen would tell him the story or he wouldn't and that would say a lot about their relationship after five years. Had Sam made any true inroads into Callen's life? Made it past any of the reclusive man's barriers?

Physically, Callen started to lightly tremble and Sam thought maybe he had pushed Callen too hard given the fact he was still trying to recover physically and mentally from being beaten, shot and dragged across a foreign country. Sam was about to tell Callen never mind, when Callen drew up his knees, dropped his head on them and started to silently cry.

Sam was a physical man, who believed touch and human connection helped heal, so he wrapped his strong arm around Callen's shoulders and drew his partner's head against his shoulder.

"I never cried for her before," his muffled voice rose from Sam's shoulder. After a while, Callen pushed back, sat up and wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve.

"Sorry, forgot about your shoulder," Sam said in a way of an apology. He hadn't thought about the partially healed bullet wound in Callen's shoulder when he had drawn the man into his embrace.

"That's Ok. Doesn't hurt as much as killing Kira did," he replied philosophically before he broke down and told Sam the whole story, leaving nothing out, not even how he turned the gangs on each other.

Sam listened quietly in a non-judgmental manner; this was a huge step for Callen, to trust Sam enough to tell him something about his past of which he was obviously ashamed. This took their partnership dynamics to a whole new level. Sam hoped by Callen telling this story, maybe it would help him heal one of the demons that haunted his past.

Sam listened to the whole tale and at the end said, "You didn't kill Kira, G."

"I didn't pull the trigger but my actions caused it to happen," Callen replied bitterly.

"What else could you have done? Killed an innocent old woman whose only crime was being the grandmother of a kid who got caught up in a gang? Would that have been the better choice?" Sam asked trying to get Callen to see reason. "There was no choice."

"Oh there was a choice," Callen stated, his voice full of certainty. "I screwed up and because of that a little girl got killed."

Sam looked puzzled; he was lost as to where his partner was going. "What choice?"

"The one I made when I first placed in that foster home; when I met Kira. I should have kept her at arm's length, not started to care about her. Then she would have been safe," he said harshly. "I was stupid and believe me I learned my lesson after that never to let people get close."

"Yeh, you learned a lesson, but not the right one. You can't go through life shutting everyone out," Sam insisted.

"Worked so far," Callen replied in an off-hand manner that irritated Sam.

Sam gave a little shrug and caught his partner's eye. "You let me in, at least partway."

Callen snorted and turned his head to face the sea. "And that was probably a mistake too, one you and I will both be sorry about."

"Our partnership, our friendship is not a mistake, G. You're my brother. You're part of my family and I promise I won't ever do anything to break your trust in me," Sam said with all his heart and soul.

Callen closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the grey metal structure, trying to process Sam's words and the way it was making him feel. He always wanted a family and Sam was offering it to him with no strings attached; Callen desperately wanted to accept the gift yet it was so hard. "As my brother, would you speak to the doctor and get me out of sickbay. I can sleep in the crew's quarters."

A small smile quirked the side of Sam's mouth. In his own way, Callen was telling him he accepted Sam's offer. "I could probably arrange that."

"Good. Otherwise I am sleeping here which I think would annoy the hell out of the deck Chief."

"Yeh, he is already a bit displeased with you and me both," Sam chuckled.

"How about, my brother, you carry me back below deck. I'm really haven't fully recovered yet. And I could use some food. I'm thinking a bacon cheeseburger," Callen wheedled.

"Ok, now you are just pushing it'" Sam replied.

Callen batted his eyelashes at Sam. "But you said we were family. Isn't that what brother's do for each other?"

Sam laughed and clapped a hand on the back of Callen's neck. "You have a lot to learn my brother but no worries, I'll be happy to teach you."

"Yeh, ah no. I'm not liking the sound of that. You know what, I changed my mind, I don't think I want a brother," Callen said though Sam knew he was not serious.

"Too late. You don't get to choose your family. Michelle, Jasmine and I have already chosen you. Buckle your seatbelt my brother; you are in for the ride of your life."

The sun set on the horizon and while Sam and Callen's present journey was drawing to a close, a new one had begun for the Brothers of the Heart.

The End

_Author's Note: I really was amazed by all the reviews and I loved reading each and every one. I had fun writing this and it sounds like many enjoyed reading it which is so cool. For those of you that asked about the next story, it is actually nearly finished; I was writing it before this intriguing challenge came up which I simply felt compelled to do. Hopefully in a few weeks I'll be able to start posting the next story. Haven't numbered the chapters yet but I think there will be at least twenty plus. As always, it is Sam and Callen centric but has the rest of the team too, unlike this one._


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